


Nightmare Mode

by mmesnappysnips (evil_lyte)



Series: Nightmare Mode [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Humor, Antivan Fire, Awkward Flirting, Canon-Typical Violence, Companionable Snark, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/M, Gallows Humor, Game Spoilers, Graphic Description, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Modern Character in Thedas, Modern Girl in Thedas, Original Character-centric, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sarcasm, Series Spoilers, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Snark, Trauma Dissociation, gary the goat, how do you thedas?, moar dots, nug fondue, swooping references
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-03-22 01:44:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 28
Words: 129,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3710206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evil_lyte/pseuds/mmesnappysnips
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dragon Age fangirl, Gwen Harwood, thought she was happier dwelling in the warm fantastical fuzzies of Thedas because her reality wasn't so hot. The elfroot is always greener...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Street Spirit (Fade Out)

**Author's Note:**

> Trying this out because this cracky idea wouldn't exit my head. It's a love affair with Thedas, really. Several chapters already written, and need revision. This one got a quick glance, so it will probably get more than one edit. Chapter Two should be out within the next couple days, if not, no promises, later today.
> 
> Game dialogue will be included, but won't be used verbatim in every instance. Since Gwen isn't a computer character with limited dialogue options, the rest of the "cast" won't be limited either.
> 
> Once again, I don't own any of the BioWare stuff, but Gwen is mine. She's just chillin' like the rest of us in Thedas. >.>

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen's life is in the doldrums, except for her enthusiasm for Dragon Age: Inquisition. Her enthusiasm might be growing into a problem she can't handle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drastically revised from the first draft and more chapter revisions on the way. 11/22/15

“cracked eggs dead birds

scream as they fight for life

i can feel death can see its beady eyes

all these things into position

all these things we'll one day swallow whole

and fade out again and fade out again

immerse your soul in love”

- radiohead

 

Gwen Harwood sagged against her front door with a deep sigh of relief; another hellish day of work slogged through, only to come home to be greeted by interminable silence. Her sister was happy on the opposite end of the continent with her wife in New York, and she was happy for them. Gwen's parents were, well, akin to very judgmental children (children she was glad she didn’t have to look after) who resented the fact that they couldn’t sell the house she was living in to pay off their mortgage. Gwen's grands left her the place in a trust, so she only paid property taxes once a year, along with utilities and such. Her mother chose to kick Gwen out years before, unwittingly forcing her and her grandparents into the position they came to be in; it was that or live in the ratty old lemon of a car she drove at the time. The way Gwen's mother went about getting what she wanted had been convoluted and very passive-aggressive.

Convinced she was only meant to visit her grandparents for a month, Gwen was confused when her mother called one day to speak to her, asking if Gwen had found a job yet. She asked her mother why she would hunt for a job when she was only staying for a month. Then the other proverbial shoe was dropped. Gwen was informed that she was not welcome to return to her parents' house, with an emphasis on how it was for her own good. She felt the betrayal like a knife in her gut.

Gwen said nothing to her grands initially, fearing her gran wouldn’t want her to stay. Gwen was never more grateful to be proven wrong. In the years that followed, it turned out that her grands were more like parents than her _actual_ parents, really. Her grands gave her support, ensuring she and her sister felt safe and loved as much as possible. Their makeshift family lifted each other up in troubled times, and never once did her grands tell her than she was incapable of doing something. It was what Gwen thought family _should_ feel like. Ten years later however, Gwen was alone.

_Why did I have to be the strong one?_

Gwen gave herself a mental slap.

_This isn’t a pity party, Gwen, this is just life. You did what needed to be done because no one else would._

If anyone ever noticed the subtle way Gwen withdrew from friends and family, it went unremarked. Gwen buried herself in the fantasy worlds of books, television, or videogames, searching for a fraction of the emotion she used to feel to cling to. She lived vicariously through the loves of fictional characters. Her day-to-day was a mind-numbing fiction in itself: Wake up, go to work, no breaks, keep co-workers at arms-length, go home, watch a tv show while eating, read and/or play videogames until passing out. Rinse and repeat as necessary. She led an _exciting_ life.

A little tinkle sounding from the pocket of her vastly oversized hoodie had Gwen reaching for her phone. On the screen, one of many reminders that she forced on herself so she wouldn’t completely wither away blinked brightly at her. Gwen created alerts for a lot of basic things: Take meds, eat, oral hygiene, shower, and of course “GET OUT OF BED YOU LAZY ASSHOLE” which accompanied her alarm. She couldn't trust herself to have the will to do those things without some sort of mental cattle prod. She swiped away the reminder and shoved her phone back in her pocket and dropped her “business backpack” on an overstuffed recliner she used as an impromptu table for her bag, mail, and the odd pizza delivery.

Gwen took care of some basics after that, then sat like a lump, her carelessly constructed meal in front of her on a T.V. tray. She stuffed her face with a day-old peanut butter and jelly sandwich while sobbing over a DVR’d episode of whatever show was making her get all the feels. She was still snuffling from the aftermath of a very feely episode later on when she sat at her computer, scrolling through tumblr longer than she meant to. Tiring of that, she decided to play a little DA:I multiplayer.

Gwen had logged a fairly disgusting amount of hours on full game playthroughs alone, more so than was probably (definitely) healthy. Her fastest playthrough was just over 77 hours, including war table missions. The first DLC ruined that personal record, but she drooled over silly things like the new crafting materials and schematics. Gwen was also terribly pleased when she was at long last able to complete that bloody mosaic from the Hinterlands.

An hour or so later found Gwen yelling at her desktop monitor on the verge of “table flip mode” at getting through to the fifth area of the Tevinter Ruins map, but the party wiped thanks to one fucktard who decided to try to TANKALLTHETHINGS but not do it in a way that kept them near the group. It would’ve been fine if Gwen was playing her Arcane Warrior, but no, she was using her lower level Archer instead, trying to mix it up. She exited the game and padded to her bedroom grumbling about stupid humans.

Gwen changed into some flannel pajama pants and pulled on an oversized black t-shirt. She turned off the light, but her room wasn't completely dark. Her eyes tracked the shadows of branches against one windowpane as she curled up under her nest of blankets. Gwen could have drawn the blackout curtains she’d hung for those days when her migraines were unbearable, falling asleep with icepacks covering her head. But being alone in a house full of so many memories at night had given her enough night terrors to last a lifetime. Gwen loved this house, but not alone. Without her grands or her sister, it was just a shelter for her shell of an existence. Home, as she knew it, was gone.

The soft patter of rain on the roof brought a smile to Gwen's lips, and she closed her eyes. Maybe she was weird, but rain soothed her and storm clouds made her happy. An ocean child, she’d lived by one coast or another all her life. The very thought of living further inland, being landlocked, was suffocating to her. Gwen thought of the Storm Coast area in the game she was so addicted to and how she’d stood, or rather her _character_ stood, by the water, and Gwen blissed out just listening to the waves for ages on her first playthrough. She drifted off to the sound of rain and warm thoughts of Thedas and its many colorful denizens.

**-Time Passes-**

Gwen shot bolt upright with a word dripping from her lips like a prayer, the hair rising on the back of her neck. As if summoned, a blinding flash of light followed immediately by rumble of thunder crashed directly overhead. She could almost taste the electricity in the air, her whole body vibrating in the aftermath. Gwen rose, trancelike, from her bed, and padded to the bedroom door at some internal urging she couldn’t define, and ever so slowly turned the handle before peering out into the hallway.

The shadows in her house at night were as familiar to her as the back of her hand, and Gwen had grown comfortable with them. So it was with twinge of alarm that one of those shadows was unrecognizable.

 _Grab the baseball bat! Oh, wait, you never bought one. Idiot_.

She wanted to reach for her phone, but her eyes were glued to the shadow. She rubbed her eyes, but the shadow remained and began to take shape. Her fear dissipated, overtaken by curiosity upon seeing the outline of a hooded figure leaning on a tall staff. Some distant part of her thought maybe someone broke in and snatched her **Staff of King Thranduil** ™, but it was still displayed on her bedroom wall. She considered using the staff instead beat up whoever it was with the fury of the Elvenking.

_Who needs a baseball bat when I could bludgeon the intruder with the wrath of Thranduil?_

The shadow didn’t move, and she began to think it was all a figment of her overactive imagination.

 _Too much time playing games and reading fiction_. _You shouldn’t have read that damn Fenders fic the other night_.

Another streak lightning pierced the darkness, illuminating everything. Gwen met the shadow's eyes; bright gold with one flash, then stormy blue with the next, and something in them wordlessly beckoned her.

She took a hesitant step forward, reaching for the switch on the wall, flicked on the hall light and it was gone. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and a violent shiver traveled down her spine. For a brief moment, she was just a little creeped out. In an attempt to put the incident behind her, she figured she may as well visit the bathroom while she was awake. When she finished, she returned to her room, picked up her iPad and found some fluffy fanfiction to take things off her mind. Just when she was getting to a good racy bit, her eyes went on strike, refusing to remain open, and sleep overtook Gwen once more.

**-dARK dREAMS-**

She stood, barefoot and silent, amid tall grasses, swaying in the wind that wasn’t blowing. Thick, dark clouds blotted out the light of the sun above, but fluffy, bright clouds, close to the _other_ sun sinking beneath the horizon, were tinged in oranges and pinks. A massive tree with long, sprawling branches in the middle of the plain was limned with in the strange light; one-half green and flowering, and the other was leafless, brittle, and dead.

Pipes pealed out in the distance, and a lone wolf howled sending icy shivers up her spine. The arid ground crunched beneath her bare feet as she ran toward the tree and slid over a soft patch earth, but did not fall. She watched with a mixture of fascination and fear as water began to seep up from her muddy footprint, and soon it was flooding over the plain, soaking the parched ground. She gritted her teeth and trudged forward through the muck toward the great tree, sinking deeper into the clay with every step. The howling and pipes seemed to be gaining on her as she pressed against the growing strength of the current.

The air crackled and grew thicker, difficult to breathe, and she tasted lightning on her tongue. Fat drops of rain began to pelt her head slowing her progress further, her feet catching on loose roots and rocks in the mire. The wolf’s howl was so close, she could almost feel the heat of its breath against her neck, though the pipes seemed more distant.

_Almost there. Just a few more steps…_

Chest deep in the mud, she pulled herself along using whatever she could grab, uprooting grass and shrubs as she went.

_There. Just need to reach for it!_

She stretched out with both arms until she felt her body would snap, scrabbling to grasp the tree. Finally, with mud up to her chin, she touched the edge of one woody tendril with the very tips of her fingers on her left hand.

 _Too late_.

Panic set in as her head was sucked beneath the mud. Gwen clawed desperately at the roots of the tree, swallowing mouthfuls of mud when her lungs demanded air. The howl traveled through the mud as if it weren’t there. When something sharp bit into her hand and wrenched her fingers away from the tree, chomping and tearing mercilessly into her flesh, she couldn’t even sound a scream. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, descending through the thick nothing. Then the pain was gone, or maybe her hand was, and she was sinking down, and down, and down. Then she stopped.

She lay face down, or so she thought. She’d hit the bottom of nothing, and nothing felt a lot like rock. Just when Gwen thought her lungs would burst, she dared to take a breath and then another. Elated there was no more mud, and she was able to take full, deep breaths, she noticed that whatever she’d landed on was slimy. She opened her eyes, swiping her muddy hair out of her vision with the hand that didn’t hurt.

Gwen peered her aching hand in the funky atmospheric light, and apart from it throbbing like a sunuvabitch, she couldn’t discern any wounds. She was grateful she still had a hand really, wriggling her fingers in an act of reassurance. She looked up and took in the lay of the land and there were shadows everywhere. Weird fronds of red grass- _ish_ stuff writhed from the rocky floor, and it was humid. The place smelled like weird combination of beached kelp, that pirate ride at the happiest freakin place on earth, and something… metallic. Rust, maybe? It was almost like she was walking at the bottom of a lake. A really weird lake where she could breathe on the bottom. Logic dictated that Gwen wouldn’t be able to breathe at the bottom of an actual lake, so this must not be a real lake. None of this was real.

_That’s comforting. Now if I could move on to maybe a sexy dream?_

Something skittered in the shadows nearby and Gwen shivered.

_That sexy dream would be really good right about now…_

Sort-of stairs jutted up out of the rock at an extreme angle, and at the top a doorway shone like a beacon. Gwen half-expected a Led Zeppelin tune to start playing, but turned at the sound of more skittering. A ball of ice formed in the pit of her stomach, and she froze with fear when a horde of ridiculously large spiders emerged from the shadows. Paralyzed, her legs refused to move taking in hundreds of shiny, black eyes attached to wrinkled, hairy torsos the size of an ottoman, and the dripping mandibles, all clicking and clacking in her direction.

A voice whispered in her head.

 _Move_.

She didn’t move. The voice returned as a shout.

_MOVE!_

Gwen tripped over herself as she twisted around, accepting her sudden compulsion to run as fast as her fat ass could for, _for what_? Where the hell was she going to run? A woman cried to Gwen from the top of the stairway, and even though she couldn’t understand what the woman said, the tone translated well enough. She squinted and saw a figure at the top of the stairs, urgently beckoning her. Gwen made another of many notes to herself to exercise more as she hauled herself up the steep steps. The doorway was too bright, but the woman kept calling out to her, and the spiders were gaining.

The woman held an arm outstretched and Gwen reached for it when she got close enough. Her hand was caught in an ironclad grip, and the light was blinding. Her world exploded with a burst of pain as she was hauled up, and propelled into the light.

Soon, the pain and light receded, and she found herself standing alone in a long hallway with high vaulted ceilings. The doorway behind her winked out after a moment. The woman hadn’t followed. Then again, neither did the spiders. She felt an ache in her heart though, and she wasn’t sure why. Wherever she was, it seemed familiar, but she had no immediate recollection of it. Maybe she had dreamed of a hall like it before? Wouldn’t be the first time she had a repeat dream, though she figured she would have remembered this one. There were probably a lot more like it that she didn’t. Gwen’s hand still stung, and she flexed her fingers. Maybe it was a sign of a stroke in her sleep and she should wake up. Better to explore a hallway constructed in her head, she thought, than a trip to the hospital that she could scarcely afford.

Gwen walked through the silent hallways, golden and bright, though shadows still clung to the edge of the light. Though when she looked at these shadows, they didn’t have the same menacing feel as before. These felt more like echoes. Echoes of long lost souls drifted near the gleaming pathways.

One such echo parted from the rest and hovered close to her. The echo began to take shape, and in the blink of an eye, it held the vague the appearance of a petite woman. Gwen could discern nothing of the echo’s features, but its voice was clear as it spoke. “We have expected you for so long. Are you prepared?”

Gwen’s head tilted to one side as she studied the echo-woman. “Prepared for what? Where? Who are you?”

“The question isn’t who am I, but who you are. And who you are is vital as the light of the sun.”

_Imma have to call shenanigans on that. What kinda Mary Sue shit is this?_

A second echo curled around the first, and it also took on a shape, though this one looked more… male. He/it walked in a ghostly circle around the echo-woman. “You are also needed for who you are, and have lost the way to knowledge of your truth.”

_What the what?_

“Uh, yeah, I like discussing philosophical depths of the soul and shit as much as the next girl, but what the frickityfrack are you on about?”

The male echo turned to his companion. “It is too soon.”

“I second that assessment,” Gwen muttered. She wasn’t drunk enough for this.

“Our last chance. No way to bring her again,” the female echo voiced with concern.

_Heh, bring me? Didn’t bring me a first time. Is this turning into a smutty dream, finally? That wouldn’t be so bad. I gotta stop dipping into the fanfic before I sleep…_

“Then we must. We can do nothing more to ease her way.”

_Ease her way? What is this even?_

“She may understand, and remember. Better than a beginning. No other viable options.”

“Hi, I’m right here,” Gwen waved, getting that groovy third-wheel vibe. “Unless you’re not talking to me at all, Thing One and Thing Two, and you’re both just ghosts talking about unrelated stuff.”

If the echoes had eyes, Gwen got the feeling they were aimed at her. They replied in tandem,“It is you.”

_That’s not creepy at all..._

“Goody?” she said, feeling distinctly uncomfortable.

“It is time. Boons are granted her. Haste needed,” said Thing One.

“Boons? What boons?” Gwen waited to break out in hives or something.

“You will understand.”

_Thing Two, getting with the real talk._

“This is my dream! Why do you have to be so cryptic?!” Gwen groused.

“You are strong of heart and mind. You are cunning. You will understand.”

Gwen took a deep breath. “I, uh, thanks for the compliments, I guess.”

“Understanding will deepen with healing,” said Thing Two.

“You guys are super helpful.”

Thing One answered softly, “You will not remember us, or this place, but you will understand.”

“The longer I stand here listening to you two, the less I understand.”

“Just so.” Both “Things” said as one. Neither moved, but suddenly it felt like she was shoved hard, and Gwen tumbled backward into darkness.

**-Back in the real world?-**

The world was cold and pain. Her left hand burned and throbbed, dragging her cruelly into wakefulness. There was a ceaseless ringing in her ears, and her head was pounding. She half wondered if she’d find a license plate number stamped into her forehead if she were to look in a mirror. She felt the cold press of stone on her forehead, her neck protesting the movement with a sharp twinge as she lifted her head a bit. She sucked in a deep breath then as she tried to straighten herself up, her breath cut off midway by a painful cough as her nose was assailed by the dank odor of mildew and moldering hay.

_My bedroom does not stink like cows shat out Pirates of the Caribbean… Did I pass out in the garage? Ugh, gross._

The jarring sound of rattling chains echoed off the walls, and she dimly becoming aware of a cold heavy weight on her wrists. her eyes opened a crack and she squinted down at source of the offending feeling, eyes widening in confusion at what she saw.

_Manacles? What in the fuck did I get up to last night? This does not look like the garage. Maybe this is like that one time..._

Gwen suddenly found she shared something in common with a bowl of literary petunias and thought, _Oh no, not again_.

 


	2. The Wrath of CASSANDRAAAAAAA~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our ostensible protagonist meets Cassandra Pentaghast and Sister Nightingale, and throws a little shade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I say slow burn, I mean slow. If you want fast, this is most likely not the fic for you. I want to focus on details and minute changes. I'll be skipping big chunks now and again, but embellishing other parts.
> 
> This has not been beta'd, so any booboos are mine.
> 
> *Revised 11/22/15.

Gwen stared her left palm and the fresh- _ish_ , ugly lesion in the center of it. It looked as if someone tried to cauterize it and failed spectacularly, the flesh surrounding it blackened and blistered. Not pretty, but nothing she couldn’t handle. She’d seen worse nursing her grands.

_Ugh, my hand smells like burnt hair and barbecue, but at least it’s not gangrenous! And I didn’t wake up with a migraine. Yay!_

The ground rocked with a massive explosion, and dust came from cracks in the ceiling above. Green fire flared from her wounded hand, and Gwen cried out, doubling over as wave of pain shot up her arm and spread, leaving her gasping for breath.

_FUUU@ &%!$#*&@%—_

The door in front of her flew open and slammed against the stone wall, and a very _~~angry~~_ ~~, _no furious_ , _ah scratch that_ ,~~ enraged woman, stormed in, a second figure following almost going unnoticed in the wake of her fury.

_Where am I? This can’t be real. Did I take one too many of my anti-anxiety meds last night or what?_

The _~~angry,furious~~_ ~~,~~ enraged woman, who looked remarkably like Cassandra Pentaghast from the games Gwen played, circled around her and snarled, “Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now.” Gwen did not remember Cassandra being so pissed in the game. The level of vitriol in her voice was cranked up to 11, and her scowl was so much fiercer. Maybe it was the sword? It looked a lot bigger up close. And sharp. And pointy.

“Sister Leliana”— _BECAUSEIAMSTILLDREAMING_ — stepped into the torchlight, eyeing Gwen with suspicion and curiosity, but remained silent.

“The conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead, except for you,” Cassandra spat.

Both women stared at Gwen, well, Cassandra glared daggers, but Leliana fingered the one in a sheath on her hip. Gwen opted for silence, in part because she was trying to overcome her nausea; she doubted the Seeker would take kindly to being puked on. Gwen still did not believe she was actually here, wherever _here_ was, and that it must be a dream. The realest dream she had yet to experience, but a dream nonetheless. Of course, if she were better at controlling her dreams, she’d also be at least 80lbs. lighter, and maybe have pointy ears. She resisted the urge to reach up and check her ears, just in case. Seconds later, Cassandra tugged Gwen’s left wrist up in her bruising grip.

“Explain this!” Cassandra asked, stretching out Gwen’s injured hand.

Gwen's stomach roiled as she squirmed in Cassandra’s grip, nostrils flaring as she tried to breathe through the pain, her face damp with sweat. Her ability to think with any clarity was diminished, and she feared what would come out of her mouth if she opened it, so she gave the barest shrug and shook her head slowly.

“SPEAK! Tell me what this is!”

Gwen inhaled sharply and croaked, “I can’t.”

Cassandra grabbed Gwen by the shoulders and shook her until Gwen’s brain rattled around in her head and spittle dotted Gwen’s face as the Seeker roared, “YOU’RE LYING!”

Gwen shrank back as well as she could, given Cassandra’s hold on her. Tears pricked at her eyes as she trembled in the Seeker’s grip, her response to this kind of rage automatic thanks to her father. He’d been a shouter. She willed herself to disappear, but it didn’t work.

“ANSWER ME!!”

Gwen was paralyzed, trying to swallow her fear.

_This is not real. It can’t be. Wake up, asshole!_

“Enough, Cassandra. We may need her.”

Cassandra let go of her with a guttural, “Fine,” and the Seeker folded her arms over her chest.

It took all of Gwen’s willpower to stop herself from curling up in the fetal position on the cold dungeon floor, but her effort couldn't prevent the tremors that continued to run through her.

Leliana sank down, resting on her haunches, and lifted Gwen’s chin with gloved fingertips. The former bard's voice was soothing, but her eyes were sharp as the daggers at her waist. “My dear, do you remember anything of what happened?”

Gwen screwed her eyes shut and dug through the wool in her brain. She remembered falling asleep to the sound of rain in her nice, warm bed. She remembered waking up while it was still dark out, but couldn't remember the reason why. She remembered being unable to return to sleep and reading smutty literature until she could barely keep her eyes open. She must have fallen asleep again, so therefore this must be a dream. She gave her brain credit for the level of realism, but she wasn’t about to say any of that to Leliana though, just in case.

_Any second now, I will wake to the dulcet tones of Billy Boyd in my ear. I really need to change that song on my alarm. Besides, if this were real, there is no way the Herald of Andraste weigh as much as I do without being a fucking qunari. Pretty sure I didn’t spawn or whatever the hell happened here as a qunari. Think of all the shelves I’d be able to reach. I can’t feel my legs… No, Gwen, focus._

“Cassandra.” Leliana held one hand out to the Seeker expectantly.

Cassandra withdrew a phial of reddish-brown liquid from a leather pouch on her belt and handed it to Leliana and the spymaster pulled the stopper. “Here, drink this.” Gwen must have had one of those looks on her face because after a moment Leliana said with a gentle smile, “Don’t worry. It’s a healing potion, nothing more. Your pain benefits no one at the moment.” There was a look in the spymaster’s eyes that said Gwen's pain might be worth something later though.

Leliana held the phial up to Gwen’s lips and Gwen drank the thick liquid. Unprepared for the bitter, vile taste, she gagged a little, but swallowed it quickly with a grimace.

_Even more reason to use that shit sparingly. Madre de Dios…_

The potion made her insides tickle, but not in that “possibly going into anaphylactic shock” kind of way. She tingled all over, the itching sensation flooding through her, becoming almost unbearable. She began to shudder violently, and her panic began to rise when it all just… stopped. The pain receded to a vague ache in the background, and Gwen practically sagged in her relief.

 _That was, well… weird_.

“Now then, mistress, we need to know what you remember. Do you recall anything? Do you remember how this began?” Leliana rose to her full height.

_Do I really want to give the same damn speech from the game? Not really._

“I remember things chasing me, like giant spiders, and climbing a stairway. There was a woman there—“

“A woman?” The look of curiosity on Leliana’s face grew.

“Yes, and I was just about to touch her hand and then _…_ ” Gwen struggled to think, frowning. She knew something had happened after that. Something important, but she couldn’t remember. Not her own version anyway.

_Fuck me sideways…_

“We haven’t more time, Leliana. Get to the forward camp and I will take the prisoner to the rift.”

“You are right, of course. Maker watch over you.”

“And you,” Cassandra said then looked behind Gwen. “Bring me that rope.”

There was a shuffling noise, and a man spoke. “Ah, this one or that one, my lady?”

Cassandra glowered at the source of the male voice. A second later, a coil rope was placed in the Seeker's hands with a muttered apology. Cassandra knelt down and unlocked the metal stocks binding Gwen’s wrists, replacing them with the rope.

“You are not being freed. I am simply taking you to see the consequences of your actions. It is the only way you will understand.” Cassandra’s tone was clipped.

The words “ _you will understand_ ” echoed in Gwen’s head until Cassandra dragged her up from the floor. Gwen’s legs complained at the sudden return of blood flow, and she stumbled behind the Seeker, trying to keep up with her as they walked along the corridor. Well, the Seeker walked, and Gwen did something more like a river dance with a limp.

_Pins and needles! Aaaaaauuuuuuugh!_

Cassandra bounded up the stairs two or three at a time. Gwen not so much. One set of stairs and she was puffing. This was not looking good. Gwen was in no shape to help save Thedas in any real sense. She was in better shape to become a fried potato wedge. She wasn’t a rogue, a warrior, a mage. She was nothing in this world; apart from scared, cold, in pain, and generally confused, but mostly nothing. The hard stares of the people milling about inside the Chantry, if that’s where she was — _DENYDENYDENY—_ were enough to remind Gwen of everything she _wasn’t_.

Cassandra paused, looking impatiently at Gwen as she struggled to catch up. The Seeker eyed Gwen with open disdain, then she opened the Chantry door. Gwen followed the woman outside, blinking and squinting and the blinding brightness of the daylight. Her eyes adjusted after a moment, then the cold hit her, bone deep, and her teeth chattered. The dungeon was a warm bath in comparison. If she wanted to keep her fingers and toes, or anything else, staying still in this weather was not going to be an option.

Gwen's eyes flicked briefly over the village, then she looked up. She was awestruck by the pillar of swirling green fire blazing from the heavens that churned with a sickening growl. “Sweet baby jeebus,” she whispered.

“We call it ‘the Breach.’ It’s a massive rift into the world of demons…” Gwen already knew the rest, drifting into her thoughts. As she stared at hideousness of the Breach, something clicked in her head. She wasn’t dreaming.

 _I am not fucking_ _dreaming_.

She was here really here. In. Fucking. Thedas. With the fucking MARK on her hand. Gwen thought of every playthrough she’d done, and after playing on _Nightmare Mode_ , subsequent playthroughs on anything less than _Hard_ seemed too easy. This wasn’t _Nightmare Mode_ though, because then she would still be dreaming. No. This was “ThedasIsFuckedInThePooperWithNoLube” mode. The people of Thedas better hope she was still just dreaming…

Cassandra turned to look at her when the Breach cracked and split wider, and a shockwave of sound tore through the air. Searing pain from Gwen’s marked hand brought her to her knees, bringing more pain when her joints hit the unmerciful ground. She cradled her hand to her torso, agony written in every line of her face.

The Seeker knelt in front of her. “Each time the Breach does that, your mark spreads. It is killing you. It may also be the key to stopping all of this, maybe closing the Breach, but we are running out of time. We don’t know that it will work, but it is our last chance. And yours.” Then the Seeker stood and helped Gwen to her feet.

Gwen weighed her options and didn’t see that she had much choice. She was no hero, and certainly wouldn't survive the demons that would come out of the rift at the Breach — let alone past the day — but she had to try. Not for herself, but for these people. If she could do something for the people of Thedas, to help even a little, at least she would die with the knowledge that she tried. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she were responsible for the destruction of a whole world, after a fashion. She could at least skip past some of the bullshit if she was lucky, though today was not proving to be lucky for her.

“I’ll do what I can to help.”

Cassandra looked taken aback. “So you’ll…?”

“You said we don’t have much time, so we should probably _…_ ”

Cassandra’s scowl diminished into a mild frown and she nodded. The Seeker half-dragged Gwen behind her as she wound through the town, the eyes of all the citizens of Haven burning holes through Gwen. She kept her head bowed low, casting a few furtive glances, and spotted one or two familiar _-ish_ faces. Every single person looked like they were about to spit on her, or far worse, and the _only_ thing that stopping them was her proximity to Cassandra. Gwen decided it was in her best interests to keep it that way, moving closer to the Seeker.

“They’ve already decided your guilt. They need it…” Gwen was too busy dealing with the flood of humiliation, shame, and guilt — that her own ineffectiveness in life would lead these people to their doom — to pay attention to the rest of Cassandra’s impassioned speech. It wasn't as if she'd never heard it before. Before long, the two of them stepped out through the first set of gates, and the Seeker was cutting the rope off Gwen’s wrists.

“Your mark must be tested on something smaller than the Breach.” Cassandra led the way shouting at the soldiers in front of the second set of gates, and Gwen trailed behind. “Let us through. We’re going into the valley.”

The soldiers opened the gates and Cassandra jogged to the left, uphill. Gwen did her damnedest to keep up. One bloke ran past them in the opposite direction wailing, “Maker! It’s the end of the world!” Gwen blinked at the utter surrealness of her situation, almost laughing at the soldier's panic. Then she felt a pang of conscience with a dash of immense guilt because this wasn’t a game for that man, or any of the other people she'd seen. She couldn't afford to think of it as a game. Not anymore.

 _Unless, of course, it is a game and you’re having the most fucked up dream of your life_ …

Another explosion at the top of the hill sent Gwen to her knees again, almost breaking teeth on the barbell in her tongue.

_Think I’ll have to lose the piercing when I remember to take it out. If I survive. Well, at least some of this shit is predictable? So it's still like the game in a way? How did I get into this? Who did I piss off? Shit…_

Cassandra helped her up again, looking at Gwen with more compassion than expected. “The pulses are coming faster now.” The Seeker gave Gwen a gentle pat on the shoulder.

_No shit, Sherlock… Seeker Obvious to the rescue._

Cassandra pushed Gwen in front of her. “The larger it grows, the more rifts appear, the more demons we face.”

“How am I even here?” Gwen muttered to herself in somewhat of a daze, though Cassandra still heard her.

“They said you stepped out of a rift, then fell unconscious. They also say a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was. Now walk, prisoner.”

“I have a name,” Gwen grumbled.

“Yes, and right now, it is ‘the Accused’.”

_Oh, regular riot you are._

Gwen kept her mouth shut and passed the Seeker, following the path forward. She started walking over the bridge when Cassandra said, “Oh, someone dropped their coin purse.” Gwen’s eyes landed on glimmering trail of gold coins, then too late she remembered where she was standing. There was a whistling sound in the air above, leaving Gwen temporarily suspended above the ground as the stone disappeared from under her. She must’ve hit every jagged stone on the way down as the bridge collapsed, shards of green crap exploding around her as she landed on the frozen river with all the grace of a turnip. She was relatively sure a turnip would have fared better, in actuality.

She started pushing herself up, taking stock as she rose shakily to her feet, when more ‘green death crystals’ crashed into the frozen water, and shards lanced through the ice from below. Lo and behold, a fucking demon popped up, much like the game, but with far more stench; and it didn't ‘pop up’ so much as inflate into a mass of solid, gooey, groaning teeth and claws with scraps of cloth draped over it.

Cassandra yelled, “Stay behind me!”

_Welp…_

Like clockwork, the ice in front of Gwen started to coagulate and bubble, turning black like tar with that funky, glowy green tinge. She looked behind her for _the_ broken crate, hoping it was there, and it was. Only there wasn’t just one weapon. There were several: A bow, a staff, a big ass sword she would never be able to lug up a mountain, a smaller sword and shield, a couple of daggers…

_OH COME ON, REALLY?!?!_

Gwen made a noise of frustration and grabbed the handle of the snack-sized sword, but left the shield on the ground. Her dithering left her rear unguarded, however, and that earned her claws tearing into her back. She cried out, her heart pounding out of control as she whirled around with the sword gripped in both hands, smacking the shade upside what might be its head with the broadside of the blade, dazing the creature. Gwen didn’t pause to revel in her little bit of good fortune, yelling wordlessly as she just started hacking crudely at the thing. It was by no means a display of grace and skill, but she had enough presence of mind to flank it. She did not stop swinging the blade until the thing burbled into a pile ooze around the ugly boots she was wearing, which were now even uglier.

Gwen was wild-eyed and panting, covered in indescribably disgusting goo that smelled like burnt rubber and sulfur. When she turned around and stood facing Cassandra, the Seeker's weapon and shield still drawn in battle stance. “Drop the weapon, _mage_.”

Gwen’s sword dropped from suddenly nerveless fingers, clattering when it hit the ground. “Wha—?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments and constructive criticism are welcome. Chapter Three is already being revised. May be up in a day or two. Thanks for reading!
> 
> Next up: Gwen meets Varric, his chest hair, Bianca, and of course, that damned Egg.


	3. The Dwarf, the Elf, and the Crossbow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gwen realizes she really needs to do more cardio, and meets a couple dudes you might have heard of. Maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, fair readers! There is some verbatim dialogue from the game, and some not. A bit more battle to be had. This chapter may be a bit longer than the other two, I'm not entirely sure. 
> 
> First, thanks to everyone who's left comments, kudos, and all! I would be much less encouraged to continue without them.
> 
> Once again, not beta'd, and my noggin hurts. Eugh. I love you all for reading this though. <3
> 
> *Revised 11/23/15

_ME?! A Mage? That…nope. How? I can’t possibly be…_

Cassandra sighed, sheathing her sword. “We don’t know who you are, or how you were able to infiltrate the Conclave, but you are not the only apostate helping us. There is another who studied the mark on your hand and he knew you were a mage.”

“I see…” Gwen could only surmise that she must have a comfy spot in a nice rubber room somewhere. Her? A mage? Sure she had weird stories in her family about paranormal shit, but nothing that could be proven scientifically. Hell, Gwen had been a massage therapist and incorporated “reiki” into her practice, but she sure as shit couldn’t fling lightning from her fingertips, knit bones in seconds, or fire MIND BULLETS.

“You have nothing to fear, for now. This is a step toward proving your innocence. After that, I can promise you a trial and no more.”

 _My trial has already begun, Seeker._ _*DRAMATIC MUSICAL NOISES*_

Cassandra rummaged through the contents of the broken crate and shoved an empty hide pack at Gwen, which she slung over her shoulder like a messenger bag.

“Well, don’t just stand there, mage, go search the remains of that shade. There may be something of use,” the Seeker said, her normal scowl back in place.

_Easy for you to say. You’ve got gloves, woman._

Gwen rolled up her right sleeve to the elbow and scrunched her nose as she knelt down and started poking through the blob of dead shade goop. The goo was still warm, and was like fondling a giant snails innards if that was even a thing. Gwen found a piece of a claw ( _maybe?_ ), a shard of something, and a nasty rag that looked like it had been partially digested. Gwen stuff these random items into one of the smaller front pouches on her bag.

_SO GROSS!_

She looked for something to wipe her hand on, and the options were snow, ice, and more snow. So, Gwen scrubbed off what she could of the shade’s remains with snow, but still felt unclean.

_SO-HO-HO GROOOOOOSSSSS~!_

Cassandra nudged Gwen from behind and handed her a smaller pouch like the one on the Seeker’s belt. “Take it. More potions. You’re going to need them. Try not to let yourself get flanked. Again. Those claw marks on your back look deep. Can you heal them?”

Gwen shook her head and said the first thing that came to mind. “Uhh… Not enough mana.”

It wasn’t necessarily a lie.

“I should remember you came willingly. Take the staff there. You will need it. I cannot protect you."

_THAT’S REALLY REASSURING, SEEKER!_

Gwen lifted the staff with no clue how to use it. She couldn’t just say, “Pewpewpew!” and critters would start dropping.

“Erm, thanks…” Gwen stared at the staff for briefly, then she bent over and picked it up with her good hand. A chill traveled up her arm and her hand was suddenly covered in with a thin coat of frost that evaporated almost as quickly as it appeared. She also noticed something like a tiny pulse the longer she held the staff.

_Weird. Nifty, sorta, but weird._

The staff was lighter than she thought it would be, but she hadn’t been holding it that long or doing fancy twirls over her head and shit with it either. She still didn’t know how to “fire” the thing. There wasn’t a manual, or buttons, no GUI, (but the shade had been gooey, yeah, she went there) and this was a really fucked up tutorial.

“Come. We’ve tarried long enough. They’re waiting for us. They’re not far.” Cassandra didn’t wait, she just started moving, and Gwen scuttled clumsily after her.

Over the next gentle rise, two shades were sliming slimily along the frozen river, and Cassandra sprang at them with a feral yell, and with her sword unsheathed, she banged on her shield and started “tanking” them both.

Gwen stared in awe at the Seeker as she fought.

“A little help here!” Cassandra gritted out.

Gwen squeaked and scrambled down the path and around. “Oh Thedas was not meant for the fluffy,” she muttered under her breath, huffing and puffing as she skidded on the ice, just barely stopped herself from falling with her staff. Now she just had to be of use in battle; like… yesterday.

_Great. Level -10 n00b magelet? I think Thedosian mage fetuses could out-fight me right now._

Cassandra was beginning to struggle. “What are you DOING, mage?!”

_Think fast. How? Primary mage stats are magic, cunning, and WILL. Maybe it’s intention? All about intent. Focus and do it, asshole. FEAR IS THE MIND KILLER!**_

Gwen took a deep breath, bending her knees -- because these kinds of things are important when engaging in physical activities-- keeping her intentions clear in her mind, visualizing what she wanted to happen, as she lowered and aimed at one of the shades. The head of the staff shimmered to life with a bluish-white glow, tendrils of cold mist swirling together, coalescing into a spinning chunk of ice that went hurtling toward the shade in Gwen’s sites. Surprised by the sudden recoil from unexpected force, she nearly dropped her weapon, but it worked! It worked really fast!

_Too fast. Way too fast. I can’t do this!_

She tamped down her fear and held on, volleys ice of flying in rapid succession at the shade until it turned completely white; frozen solid, the shade was poised over Gwen with its claws ready to rake at her face.

_Too close. Way too close. There is so much nope in this nope… I can’t nope out of this! WHY CAN’T I NOPE OUT OF THIS!?_

With a mighty roar, Cassandra shattered the shade-sicle with a shield bash from the rear, bits and pieces scattering everywhere, then the Seeker immediately switched focus to the other shade which, apparently, was just coming out of a dazed state from the wobbly way it moved. Gwen focused on the new target too, and in short order the second shade met its demise as well.

Feeling a modicum of relief, Gwen raised the staff up and leaned on it, catching her breath. The staff ceased glowing almost immediately. She flexed her hands against the wood, freezing as they were, though the cold was soothing on her left hand. She wondered vaguely if her hands were cold from the weather or the staff. She would find out eventually. Maybe.

Cassandra looked pretty beaten up, and Gwen shuffled over to her, handing the woman a potion. “I’ll be faster next time. I’m… not used to fighting.” Gwen thought an apology would sound foolish.

The Seeker accepted the potion and nodded. “I understand. You are perhaps a witch or shaman? Midwifery? Something of that sort? You don’t have the look of an Avvar or a Chasind.”

“Erm, a little healing and medicinal herbs for the local folk where I lived. Didn’t have many who came to see me, but they appreciated my work.” She could hear Varric’s game voiceover in her head. “ _Shoulda spun a story._ ”

“Oh? Where are you from?” The Seeker started walking again as her cuts and bruises healed a bit, and Gwen tried not to gape.

_Some of the best stories contain a little truth, but my truth would not be believable to Seeker Pentaghast._

“A conversation for later perhaps.” Gwen pointed to another shade leaving a sludgy trail on the ice, and a wraith ahead. “Get the attention of the one on the hill and I’ll hit it from here? Then we can both take the shade?”

Cassandra looked at Gwen with one eyebrow raised. “A sound plan. I thought you said you don’t fight?”

Gwen's chin lifted a little. “I don’t. I have, however, studied tomes, and being a mage, I am familiar with many demons and spirits from the Fade. I’ve just never seen one outside the Fade until today.”

_I’m so glad I took drama and choir in high school. ‘And the Academy Award for Biggest Female Bullshitter in Thedas goes to…*drumroll*’ Now if I could just figure out how to cast simple spells without setting myself or other people on fire at random… I can’t believe I’m even thinking this._

The next couple of encounters with demons went more smoothly than the first two, and after digging through wisp “leavings” which were akin silky deflated balloon skins coated with snot, Gwen and the Seeker started climbing a steep set of stairs.

“Do you hear it the fighting? We need to go. Now! They need our help!” Cassandra ran up the steps.

Gwen gritted her teeth, heaving for breath behind Cassandra, following as fast as she could, red as a tomato by the time she reached the top of the stairs. Gwen’s right knee had vehemently protested her plan of action, but Gwen forced the issue. It didn’t help that her mark had also sparked to life, but with her hand numbed a bit by the cold, it hadn’t hurt quite as much as it had before.

_Note to self: Cardio. And a knee brace._

On the plus side, Gwen wasn’t cold anymore. She was practically steaming in the frigid mountain air. On the down side, Gwen thought her heart was going to beat right out of her chest, and she was sweating like a sweat elemental, if there was such a thing.

Cassandra had already waded into the thick of the small skirmish, numerous shades attacking, and then there was the rift itself. Gwen tried not to stare, but it had a strange sort of hypnotic beauty to it.

She blinked rapidly and shook herself out of her idiocy, using her feeble staff wielding skills on the nearest shade until its bottom half froze. An instant later, the top half exploded in a fiery mess, revealing a familiar face she had to bite her lip to keep from smiling at the site of.

_CHEST HAIR! BIANCA! AND HE’S SMILING AT ME! Or maybe not me. I dunno. Whatever. Stop being an idiot. More sludge beasts to kill._

Gwen moved closer to the rift, firing at the back of a shade attacking some rando with an ax. Turned out it was the last shade standing and everyone focused fire on it.

Just as that last shade burbled into a puddle of demon pudding, slender fingers wrapped Gwen’s left wrist like a vice --for the umpteenth time that day-- dragging her arm, and the rest of her toward the rift.

She glared at the back of his shiny head and he turned and shouted at her. “Quickly! Before more come through!”

The elf yanked her hand forward and pointed it at the rift.

Green threads of light from the rift and her hand twined together, and fire flowed through the mark, down Gwen’s arm. Her body burned from the inside out, and there was a great pressure in her head that grew and grew, and then for second, everything went dead quiet as the rift vanished. Then the world returned loudly, with an explosive vengeance, as her ears, leaving Gwen a little disoriented. She snatched her hand back, reeling as she stumbled slightly backward. Her hand ached, but she could clench it a little now.

_I’m like the Ghostbuster of Thedas, crossing the streams on purpose._

Gwen, regardless of knowing the “drill” here, was getting a wee bit tired of being mauled and pawed at, and she turned her pained gaze to the most recent transgressor.

The bald jackass was smiling at her. Not a happy smile, so much as smug really. And those shady eyes of his...

_Goddamn motherfucking Egg &#$^!!(@*$*# Fenedhis lasa? Pfft, Lasa ma Gwenedhis, Fen’Hilariel._

She knew she was technically supposed to say something, but closing that rift had been a little like licking five 9 volt batteries at once. She wasn’t feeling too chatty. That and she feared she would bite his head off.

 _Fuck it_.

Gwen scowled up at the elf. “What did you _do_?” Her eyes bored into him, and a twinge what might possibly be alarm passed so quickly over his face, Gwen thought she might've imagined it. It was going to be a challenge to avoid taunting the Egg, because she knew better.

“I did nothing. The credit is yours,” the Egg replied mildly.

_Did nothing, huh? looooooooooooooooooooool_

Gwen cleared her throat, feeling grimy and cranky. “Brilliant. Perhaps it’ll make a smashing party trick someday.”

The dwarf laughed. The Seeker scowled. The Egg, well, he just kept being an Egg. “Then you are willing to help seal the Breach. Excellent. I believe the same magic that created that mark also created the Breach. From this I theorized that the mark might be able to seal the rifts that opened in the Breach’s wake, and it seems I was correct.” And the smug got smuggier.

_Conceal, don’t feel, Gwen._

Solas’ was one of the romances she could never complete in the game with any of her female elf inquisitors because, well, she got spoiled on the ending. It reminded her too much of a real “relationship” she experienced, and it cut her to the core. She didn’t care that the character was more than he appeared to be. After all, most people are, whether they admit it or not. But to entertain the romance at all, only to do what _he_ did to the Inquisitor in the end irked Gwen immensely.

“So then it could also close the Breach itself?” Cassandra actually looked hopeful.

_Can’t even tap the spacebar and skip over this shit. Fuck. My. Life._

“Possibly,” the elf said to Cassandra, then looked to Gwen, blue eyes piercing right through her. “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.”

 _Smooth, with a capital SMOO_.

Gwen’s lips may or may not have mouthed Varric’s comment as he said it, right on cue, “And here I thought we’d be ass deep in demons forever.”

Gwen willed herself to maintain her grouchy demeanor, but internally, she squeed, just a little.

 _Okay, so wow! One, chest hair REAL, and two, Bianca!_ _The one true Bianca, as far as I’m concerned. Put away the fangirl, Gwen. Cripes…_

“Varric Tethras: Rogue, storyteller, and occasionally, unwelcome tagalong,” he said with a pointed wink at Cassandra.

Gwen bit back a grin. She’d always loved this bit. “So, erm, are you with the Chantry, or…?”

The Egg chuckled. “Is that a serious question?”

 _Serious as your "studies" of the Fade_.

Gwen ignored the elf.

Varric twisted the fingers of his gloves. “Technically, I’m a prisoner, just like you.”

“I brought you here so you could tell your story to the Divine. That is clearly no longer necessary,” Cassandra said, slightly exasperated.

“Yet, here I am. Lucky for you, considering current events.” Varric’s charming facade dimmed momentarily.

Given the way her day was going, Gwen couldn’t resist what she did next. It also helped keep her from gawking at that amazing chest hair in the uncomfortable silence. “So… uh, that is a pretty amazing crossbow you’ve got there.”

Varric puffed up, naturally, as he turned his head to gaze fondly at Bianca. “Isn’t she though? Bianca and I have been through a lot together.” He patted the stock.

“Lovely name for a beauty of engineering like her.” Gwen beamed.

Gwen could swear the dwarf almost blushed, suddenly at a loss for words. It didn’t last, much to Cassandra’s chagrin.

“And she’ll be great company in the valley as well.”

Cassandra stepped up next to Gwen. “Absolutely not. Your help is appreciated, Varric, but—“

“Have you _been_ in the valley lately, Seeker? Your soldiers aren’t in control anymore. You _need_ me.” Varric could probably charm the smallclothes off the new Arishok, if the new Arishok wore smallclothes.

_A question for the ages…_

Cassandra turned and made her little disgusted noise, walked a short way away to punch a crumbling brick wall.

_When there are no bears, apparently walls will do?_

Gwen startled when someone cleared their throat almost right in her ear. Turned out to be the elf, who was, it seemed, tired of no one paying him any attention. “My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I am pleased to see you still live.”

She leaned back a bit, angling herself away to add distance, disconcerted by his seeming lack of personal boundaries.

Varric translated, “What he means is, ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept.’”

“You seem to know quite a bit about all of this, Solas,” Gwen said, seeing that little “ _Solas slightly approves”_ pop up in her mind’s eye.

“Like you, Solas is an apostate, well-versed in such matters,” Cassandra said, dusting wall off her gloves. “He is the one I mentioned to you earlier.” She shifted her attention to the elf. “Solas, the prisoner has a wound on her back I believe you can help with. She is also in need of lyrium potions, if you have any to spare.”

“Of course, Cassandra, though I might also remind you that technically all mages are now apostates.”

Cassandra waved a hand in dismissal. “Tend her wound so we can get to the forward camp, Solas.”

“As you say, Seeker,” Solas said with a shallow bow.

Cassandra strode over the remaining soldiers and Varric tagged along behind her, while Solas took Gwen aside to get a closer look at the claw marks on her back.

“Hmm. I do apologize, but I will need to lift the tunic high enough see and to treat your injury.”

It was fortunate that Gwen wasn’t overly shy about that kind of thing because of her job. Or the job she used to have. Unless she was still dreaming. She nodded, set her bag aside, and Solas helped her with her tunic.

She heard him suck in a sharp breath. “I see why Cassandra wished me to look at this. A potion will not suffice, and there is a claw embedded I believe. You will need a poultice for this. Fortunately, I have a few on hand.”

“Yes, fortunate indeed,” she said quietly.

“What is your name?” He asked as he poked and prodded at her injury.

Gwen wondered if she should bother telling him. She would probably kick the bucket after the first attempt at sealing the Breach, and she had no saved game files for this. Though Solas took her silence to have a different meaning.

“I understand your reticence at divulging anything about yourself, being an apostate myself as well. Though I am sure we could learn much from one another.”

_Oh yeah, I bet we could…_

Solas stopped poking for a moment. Gwen heard a snap, and then a sturdy broken branch was held in front of her mouth.

“Bite down on this. I fear this will hurt, and for that I am sorry,” he said softly.

Gwen jaws clamped down on the branch, scowling at the taste of pine. She quickly forgot about the terrible taste, however, while Solas dug out the shade claw, and once again she found herself trying to breathe through pain. It was over swiftly and he spread a poultice over the wound that instantly removed the sting. She sagged in relief, the branch dropping out of her mouth.

“Thank you,” Gwen said hoarsely.

“You are welcome,” Solas replied, helping her pull her tunic back into place.

Once her head popped out of the tunic and Gwen tugged her long braid out of it. Then she said faintly, “Gwen.”

“I am sorry, I did not hear—” Solas handed Gwen the offending shade claw and her bag.

_Yeah, yeah, I see what you did there, DW. Jerk._

She spoke up, cutting him off, “My name. It’s Gwen.”

“I am pleased to meet you, Gwen.” Solas gave her a hand up and a solemn bow from the waist.

Gwen leaned on her staff again, fighting exhaustion as she sniffed the air suddenly. “We should go. I think I smell a storm coming. Odd, no extra dark clouds though. Maybe it’s the Breach…” The last more to herself than to her fellow apostate.

“Hmm, I do not think so. Cassandra mentioned you were in need of lyrium? I imagine you smell it on me.”

“Maybe? I don’t know. It isn’t, erm, readily available where I’m from.”

Solas’ eyes narrowed a fraction with a faint glimmer of curiosity. “I thought it seemed strange that a mage would be depleted of lyrium, though I don’t know how long you've been evading templars or the Circles.”

“We should go,” she said, nodding in the direction of the Breach.

Solas wasn’t the only one capable of evasive non-answers and redirection. People were risking their lives and Solas was prying, and she wasn’t going to tell him a damn thing.

“I believe we have a forward camp to be getting to.”

Solas took the hint, though before she could move further, he reached for Gwen’s right hand and placed a phial full of luminescent blue liquid in her palm, closing her fingers around it without another word.

They joined Varric and Cassandra on the other side of the ruined wall, and the foursome continued on. Surreal no longer adequately covered how Gwen felt about her current situation.

Solas broke into her thoughts, shouting, “Demons ahead!”

Varric pulled Bianca off his back and yelled, “Glad you brought me now, Seeker?!”

_GAME ON!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Working on next installment, may not have it up until Monday 04/11/15. Depends on another project. <3 Thanks for reading!
> 
> Update on chapter 4: It seems I may actually have to split Chapter 4 into two chapters, so the next update will likely get you double because Varric is a chatty little shit (bless), among other things. It may take a little more time, but I'm doing my utmost to make this entertaining for y'all. :3
> 
> Next time:
> 
> Gwen gets her first taste of lyrium, the Commander (not her first taste of him, geez), and sealing the Breach-ish.


	4. A Funny Thing Happened On Our Way to the Temple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen's first taste of lyrium is a doozy, a chat with Chancellor Roderick, Varric tries to think of a nickname for our heroine, and there is something Gwen forgot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lengthiest chapter yet. Not beta'd, yada blah. I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> *Revised 11/23/15

Cassandra almost rushed off until Solas called a halt. “A moment please!”

The Seeker jerked her head in assent, and a second later, Gwen was mesmerized by light that began to flicker around Solas’ hands, but more brightly around the left. With a wave of his hand, a slick, shining light shimmered over Cassandra, Varric, and Solas.

_A barrier? Actual for-really-real magic spells! Being cast! And I’ve just seen it. With my own eyes. Like really seen it. I know he was doing it at that first rift, but I was preoccupied and uh oh…_

Cassandra finally rushed forward, slamming her shield into the ugliest shade Gwen had seen yet. Gwen stayed back while Varric started firing a steady stream of bolts at the wraiths flickering in the distance, and Solas… Solas was yelling something. A lesser shade had slipped past him, and was headed straight for Gwen, and she, dumbass that she was, hadn’t been in range when Solas had cast the barrier spell.

Everything slowed to a crawl, and Gwen’s limbs moved like they were mired in mud.

The lesser shade squelched toward her and Solas’ words finally sunk in. “Gwen! Move!” She blinked and time sped up, taking one step back in shock then another, only to fall on her ass as she tripped over a rock and slid along the ice with the wind knocked out of her. So much for that poultice. Gwen looked up and the shade was frozen in place.

 _Winter’s Grasp_?

The elf frowned at Gwen, shook his head and refocused his attention to the last wraith floating. Varric looked like a little kid, springing around, firing Bianca at the big shade while Cassandra periodically slashed at the creature, moving in circles around it to keep its attention on her.

Though she’d dropped her staff, Gwen still held the bottle of lyrium, which had surprisingly survived the fall. Her eyes flickered back and forth between the bottle and the frozen shade.

_Well, that thing isn’t going to stay frozen forever…_

She bit the waxy seal off the bottle and with one last doubtful look at the phial, Gwen drank the glowing blue contents down like a shot. It burned like one too. Acidic, a little fruity, with a hint of metal and something cool, but nothing she could recognize, and the heat of it went down to her toes. Apart from the warmth, which seemed to be dissipating, the lyrium didn’t seem to have any noticeable effects as far as Gwen could tell. She prayed this wouldn’t end up being like that rave she went to that one time... Then again, maybe the shade needed hugs?

There was a crack, and the sound of shattering glass, and the lesser shade wrenched free of Solas’ icy enchantment, lurching forward.

_No! No hugs!_

Panic welled up inside her as she reached for her staff, but the demon slug was already on her. She kicked out with both feet, and one claw scarping at her left boot as the thing wobbled backward. Gwen scrambled for her staff, and the shade dug its claws into her arm with a weird piggy roar, and her panic turned inward on itself, unfurling into rage, fierce and hot. Gwen twisted, howling as she raked at the demon’s face with her bare hands, digging her fingers into its slimy flesh. The demon moaned and squealed, then erupted in flames, but Gwen didn’t release it. She held on as it burned to ash around her fire-coated hands, unable to think beyond survival in that moment.

_DIEDIEDIE_

Gwen didn’t notice when Cassandra, Varric and Solas had joined in the fray, or even when the demon started to crumple into dust. The Seeker pried her away from the smoking, pulpy mass of remains. She was heaving for breath, her throat sore from screaming, and shaking like a leaf.

Cassandra held her carefully as Solas poured a healing potion down Gwen’s throat. Serenity and relief eased into her as the potion took effect and Solas said something to Cassandra. Gwen’s hadn’t noticed when the buzzing in her ears began, but she did now that it stopped. Everyone pinned her with looks of concern, and she squirmed at the sudden attention. The word “abomination” stood out when Cassandra said something to Solas. The elven apostate shook his head, and Varric looked _more_ concerned. Gwen felt like she was going to throw up.

“Are you alright, Gwen? What happened?” Solas asked as he lifted the back of her tunic to adjust the poultice, tutting about shade claw venom.

_No way am I making it past the Breach alive at this rate. They screwed up when they sent me, whoever made that A-plus corporate decision._

“I—” Gwen faltered.

_How do I say that I’ve just seen and done things in the last Christ only knows how many minutes or hours that I never thought possible and I’m scared shitless that I won’t be able to help because I am more ignorant that the Dalish? Maybe I could just say I was having a Dalish moment? Somehow I don’t think the joke would go over well._

“The lyrium didn’t agree with me.” She didn't think it was very creative, but she had no idea what else to say.

“Ah, I see. Well, not all elixirs are the same, so you have my apologies. It was perhaps not mild enough for you. Next time, I can prepare a diluted solution…”

“I don’t think there will be a next time, Solas, so don’t worry about it.” Gwen was afraid that she might accidentally hurt someone, and not have a demon to take out her, whatever that was, on.

_Hell, Gwen, you didn’t need lyrium guilt. You were born with it. It’s your job to take on the whole world, right? You always say if someone offered to ease the world’s suffering in exchange for your life, you’d do it._

“I respectfully disagree, Gwen. You have been through much and your reaction is understandable, circumstances being what they are.”

“Will she be alright, Solas?”

“She is fine, Seeker. My lyrium is more potent than perhaps she is used to and she drank the whole bottle.” Solas’ lips twitched a little in amusement.

_So never play Diamondback with Solas, and NEVER DRINK HIS LYRIUM POTIONS, ESPECIALLY NOT A WHOLE BOTTLE AT ONCE. Could’ve said something. Damn Egg…_

Gwen stood up without taking his proffered hand, gave him a sidelong glance as she stalked past the mage.

“I am not as skilled or knowledgeable a mage as Solas, but I want to try to seal that thing in the sky before things get worse. If it’s all the same to you lot, I’d like to get this over with.”

 _Then wake up, I hope_. _Where I belong_.

Cassandra nodded curtly and led them up a path through another batch of shades and wraiths while Gwen hung back, but not too far, and concentrated on using her staff and staying out of the way. They pressed on, leaping in to help guardsmen at the gates being attacked by demons vomited out by yet another rift.

Gwen sighed and raised her voice, “Keep them off me.” She walked up to the rift with her hand held high, wincing as she tugged at the resistant threads, only to for her left arm to drop nerveless to her side. A wraith had taken notice of her and was about to lob another green ball of wraithyness at her when Varric, bless him, pegged it where it’s head might have been, if it had one, and Gwen aimed her staff with her good arm, firing until it fizzled to the ground, dead.

Solas shouted from behind her to use the mark again, and Gwen snarled, lifting her numb arm as threads of the rift and the mark wove together once more, and she yanked it closed, another rift sealed. She might also have flipped Solas off in the process, but as far as she knew, that wasn’t a thing in Thedas, so she was safe- _ish_.

_Ding. Level up. Yeah, right. Not a game._

She did feel a little different though. She couldn’t put her finger on what it was just yet. The sealing of this second rift went more smoothly than the first, and the physical effects were far less dramatic.

“The rift is gone! Open the gate!” Cassandra ordered, and like magic, or because she was just plain intimidating, the gates opened.

Varric and Solas jogged up to Gwen. “We’re clear for the moment. Well done.”

_Joy. Do I get a biscuit now?_

Gwen shot Solas a dark look which prompted a nervous comment from Varric, “Whatever that thing on your hand is, it’s useful?”

The Seeker strode past the three of them, and Gwen followed, her mouth set in a grim line. The next five minutes would not help Gwen’s current mood. Solas and Varric replenished their potions while Cassandra, who had gone straight to Leliana’s side, argued with a man in a ridiculous outfit. Varric stuffed a few extra potions in Gwen’s bag and gave her unmarked hand a reassuring squeeze.

Gwen shut her eyes and took a deep, long breath. When she opened them again, she glanced down at Varric and gave him a small smile. Cassandra pointed to her from where she was standing, and Gwen joined her. She recognized Chancellor Roderick, though he appeared more haggard in reality. She braced herself for his particular brand of spite.

“Ah, you’ve brought the prisoner, Seeker Pentaghast. Sister Leliana has been arguing that the woman must be taken to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Surely you can make the good Sister see reason.”

“Actually, Sister Leliana and I are agreed on the matter, Chancellor.”

“Wh-what? She…we don’t even know who she is! We know only that she is to blame for all of this! I hereby order you to take this-,” Roderick eyed Gwen with haughty disdain, “-criminal to Val Royeaux to face execution.”

Gwen would swear later that she heard Cassandra growl. “Order me?!” The Seeker took a threatening step toward the table and Roderick’s adam’s apple ( _or would it be like Shartan’s apple, or Maferath’s or wtf do they have a first man and woman creation myth in Andrastianism?_ ) bobbed up and down nervously. “You are glorified clerk. A bureaucrat!” Cassandra spat.

“And you are a thug,” Ser Roderick of Snootybreeches replied.

_Thug life…_

Gwen coughed to hide a bark of inappropriate laughter. Roderick fixed his gimlet stare on Gwen long enough to make her ensure her discomfort before he looked back at Cassandra. “But a thug who _supposedly_ serves the Chantry.”

Leliana cut in. “We serve the Most Holy, Chancellor, as you well know.”

“Justinia is dead! We must elect a replacement and follow HER orders on the matter,” Roderick huffed.

Gwen couldn’t stop herself. “Nice to see someone has their priorities in order. Obviously the Breach will have to get in a queue and wait patiently behind Thedosian politicking, because _that’s_ realistic.”

There were stifled choking noises coming from behind Gwen. Leliana was suddenly gnawing on her bottom lip like it was her last meal, and Cassandra didn’t bother hiding the smirk now gracing her face.

Chancellor Roderick’s face grew mottled with outrage. “YOU brought this on us in the first place!”

Cassandra took another step toward the Chancellor, and opened her mouth to speak, but Gwen was quicker. “I’m fairly certain that if you check my calendar, Chancellor, you’ll find I’m only responsible for starting the Blight and the creation of all evil. Tearing a hole in the sky isn’t in my schedule for, oh,” she made a show of counting on her fingers, “at least another sixty ages.”

Roderick sputtered, at a loss for words.

Gwen turned slightly when she heard wheezing, looking with concern at Varric who seemed to be having some kind of fit while Solas was patted the dwarf’s back. Meanwhile, Leliana concentrated on a point in the far distance with great intensity, and Cassandra cleared her throat, looking at the Chancellor.

Roderick heaved a sigh. “Call a retreat, Seeker. Our position here is hopeless.”

Gwen studied at the chantry brother with a mixture of pity and respect. He might seem like a dick most of the time, but she had to give him credit for not being easily deterred from his beliefs or opinions. She respected that, to a point. It saddened her that only drastic measures for people as steadfast as the Chancellor to be open to change, if they ever were. Thedosians didn’t hold a monopoly on inflexibility. If Gwen did, by some bloody miracle, manage to survive beyond the initial attempt at sealing the Breach, however, she refused to feel guilt for giving Roderick a little preemptive shit.

“We can stop this before it is too late, Chancellor,” Cassandra insisted.

“How? You won’t survive to reach the temple, even with all your soldiers,” he said.

“Even still, we _must_ get to the temple, if only to try. It is the quickest route. We cannot give in now when we may have a chance to close the Breach.”

“The quickest, yes, but not the safest. Our forces can charge as a distraction while we take the pass through the mountains,” Leliana countered.

Cassandra scoffed and said, “We lost contact with an entire squad on that route. It’s too risky.”

“Listen to me,” Chancellor Roderick pleaded, “Abandon this now before more lives are lost!”

The Breach belched out a massive green bolt and swelled, more shards and God ( _Maker, Gwen, remember, Maker_ ) only knew what flying out of it. Gwen hissed as her mark pulsed violently, almost biting a hole through her lower lip, her fist staying clenched until the green light fizzled out.

Cassandra turned her back to the Chancellor and looked at Gwen. “How do _you_ think we should proceed?”

Gwen blinked, wiping beads of sweat from her brow, as she said through gritted teeth, “Why ask my opinion on the matter?” She shook out her left hand.

“You have the mark,” Solas said.

_Thank you, oh Fen’Obvious. I didn’t think I would have noticed it if not for your keen and powerful skills of observation._

“And you,” Cassandra placed a hand on Gwen’s shoulder, “are the one we must keep alive. Since we cannot agree on our own…”

 _Oh, so I’m actually a human version of Rochambeau! SUPER! I’m brimming with confidence now_.

So she thought about it. There was no way Gwen had the strength to climb all those fucking ladders, let alone hike her chunky ass up a mountain in the first place. She was not an outdoorsy girl. She had allergies, asthma, and “fitness” was something she barely accomplished with a nice pair of jeans. She couldn’t even fathom what she must look like right now, but she knew she that she probably looked like someone used her like a drain snake in a demon’s thorny asshole. She was a disaster waiting to happen. In the game, in most of her playthroughs, she took the mountain path. But it wasn’t Gwen in the game.

_Damn…_

“With the soldiers then, if I am to be a die before I die,” Gwen said dryly.

Cassandra may or may not have had something like look of approval on her face, regardless of the ill-timed pun. “Leliana, let us discuss what is to be done,” she said, and she nodded at Gwen then stepped to one side with Leliana.

The Chancellor threw his hands up in defeat, sounding his own personal retreat as he ducked into his tent.

Gwen leaned on her staff and Varric sidled up to her. “You know, you remind me a lot of a good friend of mine.”

“Is that so?”

“It’s true. Hawke is one of a kind, but you have this kind of, I dunno...” Varric fidgeted with his gloves. “He would be stoic and moody sometimes, but mostly, that man could make a joke out of pretty much anything. Even when faced with impending doom, or the deepest tragedy, he found a way to laugh at it. I see those qualities in you.”

 _So the Hawke here is male… What else will be different? Never mind, I don’t want to know. Never did get a full playthrough on DAII with Garrett_ …

“Hawke?” Gwen laughed, giving Varric an incredulous look. “The Champion of Kirkwall?

“Ha! You’ve read my book?” Varric preened.

“Maybe…”

Varric couldn’t wipe the smirk off his face. “Whatever you say, Merry.”

“My name isn’t Mary.”

“No, no. Merry as in jolly.”

Gwen scowled. “No. Nope.”

“Well, I can’t call you Hawke. Hawke is Hawke.”

“Wouldn’t that be ‘Hawke-ward’?”

Varric snorted. “That was terrible. Mind if I steal that?”

Gwen just rolled her eyes at him.

“How about ‘Grace’?” he said.

“Why Grace?”

“Wicked Grace with her wicked sense of humor?”

Gwen gave the dwarf a look that was answer enough.

“No? Hmm, I’ll pin a nickname down for you. Give it some time.” Varric narrowed his eyes in thought.

Gwen looked at him and asked, “Is this going to end up being like the ‘let’s see if we can guess the color of Fenris’ smalls’ game, because…”

“So you HAVE read my book!”

Gwen made a noise of disgust, straightened her spine, threw her shoulders back, and lifted her chin haughtily. “I admit to nothing, dwarf.”

Varric cackled about Gwen’s impromptu parody of Cassandra for the next five minutes, and Solas listened to their banter with a slight upward curve to his lips.

Cassandra returned from doling out orders and Varric said with a grin, “Hey, Seeker, you need to hear…OW!” He rubbed his shin and gave Gwen what she would call “shelf-lip.”

“Sorry, it slipped,” Gwen said, casually righting her staff.

“Meanie.”

“No.”

Varric chuckled again and Gwen even smiled a little herself. Cassandra just looked at them both as if they’d each grown a spare head. “Are you quite finished?”

“Ready when you are, Seeker.” Varric sauntered past whistling tunelessly. Cassandra looked bewildered before her signature sneer reappeared with a grunt of disgust, turning on her heel to push ahead of Varric.

Gwen didn't know what happened just then, but she was pretty sure Varric wasn't exactly displeased about having a good view of Cassandra’s rear end. Then again, maybe she’d just read too many fics before all… _this_.

Solas fell into step behind Gwen as they climbed a steep path toward the next set of gates. The noise level rose as they passed through a small encampment, wounded and exhausted soldiers being tended on either side of them. The sounds of pitched battle ahead only grew louder, and everyone picked up the pace. Gwen straggled a little behind, but did her best. She was sweating like a pig and her lungs were on fire. Naturally, there was one more rift in their path on the way to the temple, and nearing another rift meant the mark was forced open yet again. Gwen might as well continually stab her hand with a white-hot dagger; the resulting effect would be the same.

Gwen held back surveying the field of battle as the rest party fell into the fray. There were far more demons here than there should be, and that worried her. Her head was still a bit wonky from the lyrium, but the near constant flow of adrenaline seemed to sharpen her focus. She could see what needed to be done, but would they even listen to her if she said anything? She doubted it.

_Fuck it. Say it anyway. Now isn't the time to be a chickenshit!_

“Solas, throw barriers on the regulars. I have an idea!” He glanced at Gwen, curious, then nodded, casting a barrier over the soldiers while Gwen hustled over to Varric.

“Hey, can you, erm, make a fat trail of the caltrops that you pretend you don’t have and tell Cassandra to try and move the demon bastards over it? Carve me a path to the rift?”

“Will do, Pumpkin!” Varric nodded, tossing a fistful of caltrops at the ground.

“No!” She shouted with a grin as she got out of his way, and he laughed. She was glad he listened and she hoped this would bloody work.

She waited a moment, pointing her staff at demons here and there without doing enough damage to any one demon to gain its full attention.

Varric zoomed all over the place dropping black spikes, and he paused beside the Seeker. Gwen saw her nod and Cassandra, roaring that fierce roar of hers, led the demons on a merry spikey chase as they banged and scraped at her shield. The Seeker occasionally stopped to hack and slash at the creatures while Varric covered her back.

Solas was still covering the soldiers and Gwen saw her window of opportunity. She ran in and braced for the pain as she thrust her hand up toward the rift, and the mark blazed open, pulling with her will until her ears popped from the implosion of the crystal, and the Inquisition soldiers charged in after any straggling demons.

When the last demon shriveled into oblivion, Gwen reached out with the mark again, and she stitched the rift, closing her fist to cut the thread. She could almost sense it knitting closed as she did it, in a way. She must still be high on lyrium. She didn’t think she ever wanted to drink any of that shit again.

Gwen leaned on her staff, tired and aching.

“Sealed. As before. You are becoming quite proficient at this.” Solas' sudden appearance gave her a start, as if the man just spawned out of thin air. Either that or she had to work on her “Fen’HarElf Stealth Detection Skillz.”

Varric joined them. “Let’s hope it works on the big one, too.”

“That was a shrewd plan, Gwen.” Solas gave her a small nod.

“Perhaps.” She shrugged and looked up at the Breach, boiling angrily in the sky.

“I believe the Commander would appreciate it, all the same.”

“Bet you’re right, Chuckles. You doing alright there, Peaches?” Varric said with a grunt as he fiddled with Bianca.

“Eh?” Gwen blinked and looked down at Varric. “Peaches?”

Cassandra’s voice carried over the field. “I wasn’t the one responsible, Commander. This was thanks to the prisoner.”

_Commander? Oh shit… I forgot…_

Gwen turned and looked. That was a mistake.

_Maker preserve me…Tall and wow NO! I will not. No. My heart is stone. Ice-coated stone. From Tevinter. Coated with a silverite/dragonbone alloy shell, and more ice. In a cage. With no key. Buried in a pit. Under an oceanic volcano. Surrounded by zombie sharks…_

“Is it?” The Commander said, sounding less-than-jubilant about that fact in particular.

Gwen found something about her right thumb extraordinarily fascinating all of a sudden.

_Oh, stop being a coward. He’s just some dude. He’ll probably think I’m just a really short hornless Qunari or something anyway. Or a tall dwarf. None of this matters. Gawd, you aren’t here to romance anyone. Ever. Is he staring at me? Hmm, no probably glaring… Shit._

Gwen looked up, but not at the Commander, just in his general direction- _ish._

“I hope they’re right about you. We lost a lot of people getting you here.” The Commander's voice was condemning. She guessed his facial expression wouldn't be far removed from his tone.

Gwen’s shoulders sank under the weight of more guilt, as heat rose in her face. “You’re not the only one to hope so.”

_Great. Blush away, like an asshole, Gwen. Ugh…_

She made the mistake of looking at him directly then, and if looks could kill, Gwen would be a smoking pile of ash. If she'd placed a bet with Varric about her guess, she would've gotten some silver out of it, at least.

The Commander scowled darkly down at her. “We’ll see soon enough, won’t we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update won't be until after Tuesday at the very least, but it's mostly done. Needs revising. I have a deadline to meet, however, so until next time, friends! Thanks for reading!
> 
> Next up:  
> Gwen Harwood and the Temple of FML *cue Indiana Jones music*


	5. Gwen Harwood and the Temple of FML

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You have three guesses, and the first two don't count.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First: Many thanks to all who have read, subscribed, bookmarked, commented, and left kudos. It means a lot and it gives me a reason to keep writing this schlock. ;) Much lurve!
> 
> NOTE: If you are squicky about graphic descriptions of death and things related, there may be some parts of this chapter that will be unpleasant for you. This is pretty, um, actiony. Anyhoo, consider yourself forewarned.
> 
> Not beta'd, and my mistakes are my own.
> 
> *Revised (heavily): 12/02/15

Gwen wilted under the heat of the Commander’s glare.

_Lovely. He hates my guts! And the day was going so well! NOT!_

The Commander turned his attention to Cassandra and said, “The way to the temple should be clear. Leliana will try to meet you there. Maker watch over you, for all our sakes.”

At that moment, Gwen was grateful to whomever she inherited her stubborn streak from, else she might have collapsed under the weight of her immense relief. Had the Commander continued to direct his phenomenal glare at her, she was fairly certain the resulting pile of ash bearing her name would be of more use to him.

“Then we’d best move quickly. Give us time, Commander. Maker go with you, as well,” Cassandra replied.

Gwen stared at the rocky ground as the Commander departed with what troops he had left. Her gut churned with the knowledge of what was coming. This was going to make or break her. Gwen almost laughed aloud imagining the odds “videogame” Varric and Dorian might’ve put on her success. Dorian would’ve been a wealthy dead man.

“Seeker, allow me a moment to see to Gwen, if you would,” Solas requested.

“Of course. She is, after all, why we are here.” Cassandra’s tone implied Gwen’s guilt more so than her cooperation.

_Remember she doesn’t know any better and she’s still reeling from loss like almost everyone else._

Still, the assumption of guilt hurt. Cassandra and Varric bickered like an old married couple as they stepped away, and Solas took Gwen aside, handing her another phial of lyrium. She wrinkled her nose and pushed it away.

Solas head tilted, one eyebrow rising as he eyed Gwen with interest. He spoke calmly as he tucked the phial away, “I have never met a mage quite like you, Gwen.”

“I haven’t met any like you either, Solas, but I don’t know every mage there is to know.” Her reply came off much harsher than she’d intended.

The elf’s eyes brightened, features softened momentarily by a genuine smile, and a tiny laugh escaped him. “My apologies. I meant no insult. My curiosity can be troublesome at times.”

“Is _that_ why you were near enough to the conclave to lend your assistance afterward?”

A flicker of surprise passed over his face. Even she didn’t know his precise reasons for attending the conclave, though she could speculate for a good long while on the topic.

“I…yes. In part. I have studied the Fade extensively, and during my travels there and here in the waking world, I have learned much. At least, far beyond the experience of any of the Circle mages Cassandra so admires. Following the explosion, it seemed only right that I offer whatever assistance I could to seal the Breach. After all, if it remains open, we are all doomed, regardless of origin.”

“When this is fixed, what will you do then?”

“One hopes those in power will be remember who helped, and who did not,” he said with an inclination of his head.

As the two of them reached their companions, Solas caught the Seeker’s attention with a gesture and said, “Cassandra, you should know: the magic involved here with the Breach is unlike any I have seen. Gwen may be a mage, but I find it difficult to imagine _any_ mage having such power.”

Helpful Solas is helpful.

_Any mage, he says. Not just any mage. Look at him though, trying to smooth it over for me with Cassandra. I almost don’t wanna deck him. Such ethos. Many elfy. Wow._

Cassandra frowned slightly and nodded. “Understood, Solas. We are not far from our destination now.”

They pressed on, creeping through piles of rock and debris for a few yards then dropped down from a ledge.

“The Temple of Sacred Ashes,” said Solas.

“What’s left of it,” Varric muttered.

Charred remains, some still ablaze, were scattered everywhere, and not all of them whole: skeletal strangers posed forever in a rictus of pain and fear. The stench of burnt hair and a meat wafting through the air made Gwen gag. A soft breeze blew some of it away, but the cloying scent was stuck in her nostrils now. The explosion had burned through people so quickly that some of the bodies were still upright, partly. It was gruesome, and she could feel Cassandra’s eyes on her as they walked.

It was painful to look at, without question. She should be more disturbed perhaps, but much of the day still seemed unreal, and this wasn’t Gwen’s first experience with death. This was almost easier because she didn’t know anyone personally and could look with a clinical eye, but a compassionate heart. Nothing yet compared to her personal experience. Watching someone she loved die over the course of years, while she saw to their comfort as best as she could; bathing them, feeding them, helping them to the bathroom, changing diapers, constantly on alert. She looked grimly at the husks around her, still warm, but unrecognizable. The heat left in them was from fire, not the aftermath of life slipping away. That latter was far more difficult to acknowledge.

Her eyes burned in remembrance, and she blinked away her morose line of thought. Surrounded by the tragedy that was the Temple of Sacred Ashes, and the many lives lost, both innocent and not, Gwen could perhaps hope that these people were fortunate enough for the mercy of a quick death. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on her past, though it put things here in perspective.

She wiped angrily at her eyes. Gwen had work to do. Tears could come later, if she lived.

Cassandra paused beside a circle of shadows seared into the melted rock of the ground. “This is where you walked out of the Fade and our soldiers found you. They say a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was.”

Gwen knew. Or she thought she did, at least. She couldn’t be sure of what may or may not have changed.

They kept moving and entered a broken passage half-buried in rubble, and a sound like grinding metal gears cracking and breaking echoed reached her ears.

“Once more unto the Breach, dear friends, once more,” Gwen whispered, taking care to step around the bodies of the fallen.

As they rounded a corner, they all slowed, gazes inevitably drawn to the behemoth pulsating crystal hovering in the sickly green light of the Breach.

The first rift.

“The Breach is a long way up,” Varric said in awe.

“You made it! Thank the Maker!” Leliana jogged in behind them with a contingent of scouts and soldiers trailing her.

Cassandra loped over to Leliana, their heads soon bowed together in conversation.

Gwen’s knuckles where white where she clutched her staff, craning her neck as she viewed the Breach from ground zero. She wondered if they’d be able to make use of her marked hand if she was dead. Gwen pictured Solas wielding a staff with her severed hand jammed on the end, dancing around, flailing it at a rift and coughed violently trying not to laugh.

_Wow, brain, this is not the time to be ridiculous. Or maybe it is. Whatever._

“You okay there, Firecracker?” Varric asked.

Gwen nodded at the dwarf, but didn’t look at him, letting yet another nickname go. It wouldn’t do to reveal her nervousness.

Cassandra inserted herself between the rift and Gwen’s line of sight. “This is your chance to end this. Are you prepared?”

Gwen brows dipped in a frown. Something was nagging at the back of her mind, and when it refused to cooperate, she shook it off. She met Cassandra’s grim visage and nodded. “As I can be.”

Solas stood just behind Gwen and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “This rift is the first, and it is the key. Seal it, and perhaps we seal the Breach.”

“Then let’s find a way down, and be careful,” Cassandra said.

Gwen trailed behind her companions as they wound their way through the ruin. Jagged rocks pulsated with eerie green cracks of light. Then a persistent, dissonant hum insinuated itself into her skull; her teeth clench as it the vibrations grew in volume and intensity in her head.

For a split second, the humming ceased, her steps faltering as the booming voice of the Elder One ( _not that she could say anything to anyone, much like Chuckles_ ) thundered throughout the ruin, reverberating off the rocks. “ **Now is the hour of our victory. Bring forth the next sacrifice.** ”

Gwen’s bones ached at the sound.

“What are we hearing?” Cassandra said, with an edge of fear in her voice.

“At a guess: the person who created the Breach.”

_“Person” is stretching it, but nice deflection, Fenny._

The humming returned with a vengeance then, and Gwen saw the source, as did Varric. “Shit… You know this stuff is red lyrium, Seeker.”

“I see it, Varric,” Cassandra said curtly.

“But what’s it doing here?” the dwarf gritted out.

“Magic could have drawn on lyrium beneath the temple, corrupted it…” Solas offered.

“Ugh, it’s evil! Whatever you do, don’t touch it!” Varric warned.

Gwen could feel the heat rolling off red lyrium, and the longer they were near any of it, the more she wanted to itch and squirm.

“ **Keep the final sacrifice still.** ”

_Wait, before he said NEXT sacrifice… What did he mean? There had only been one before…_

“ **Maker, help me!** ”

Cassandra wavered, and looked at the rift. “That is Divine Justinia’s voice!”

_I don’t like these little changes one bit. Gah, fucking chaos theory…_

The best Gwen could offer Cassandra was a shrug as they dropped down from the final ledge. The mark reacted to the rift as more ethereal voices slipped out of it, swirling around them.

“ _Maker, help me!_ ”

“ _Get away from her!_ ”

Cassandra, clearly shocked, looked at Gwen. “That was your voice. Most Holy called out to you?”

Then, shadows of the scene itself played on a screen of mist, and there are enough differences from what Gwen knew and this scene that it made her nervous as fuck.

“ **Vivii denae somniari** …” and shrill noise pierced the air, and they all covered their ears.

“ **Keep the sacrifice still.** ”

“Maker, help me!”

“Get away from her!”

 _That kinda looks like me. Damn, I really need to lose weight._ _My brain, ladies, gents, and others. Priorities to the last_.

“You! You must go! Run! Warn them!”

“ **You will not interfere.** **Kill the abomination!** ”

_Abomination? I mean dang, Cory, have you looked in an eluvian lately? Eheh… Hmm… Well, good thing I probably won’t survive this because I won’t survive what comes after because TEMPLARABOMINATIONOBLITERATIONPARTY HAAAAY!_

If she hadn’t already lost it, Gwen was definitely losing what little she had left of “it.”

“You were there! Who attacked? He called you abomination?! And the Divine, is she…? Was this real? What are we seeing?!” Cassandra had yanked Gwen to her by the collar of her horribly abused mercenary tunic, the tip of the Seeker’s sword pricking Gwen’s throat. She swallowed carefully, but the blade nicked her skin.

Gwen’s staff fell from nerveless fingers, standing on tiptoe as she whispered, “I don’t remember. I’m sorry. I truly don’t!”

Cassandra must have seen something akin to sincerity on Gwen’s face as she shoved her away with an angry snarl.

Solas strode up to the Seeker, his voice soothing as if her were addressing a feral animal. “These are but echoes of what happened here. The Fade bleeds into this place, and Gwen is no abomination, I told you as much before.”

Gwen picked up her staff with trembling hands, and turned her back to the group while they spoke among on another, and dabbed at the blood trickling down her neck with the back of one dirty sleeve.

 _I need five baths and ten showers to get the memory of today off me_. _Getting it out of my head will be a different story. Thankfully, there are drugs for that_.

Solas continued, raising his voice for everyone’s benefit as he spoke, “This rift is not sealed, but it is closed, albeit temporarily. I believe with mark, the rift can be opened, and then sealed properly and safely. However, opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side.”

“That means demons! STAND READY!” Cassandra shouted.

A flurry of movement followed as archers, scouts, and soldiers took varying positions both above and down at the lowest level.

Solas looked at her then. “Are you ready, Gwen?”

A hand, she wasn’t sure whose, touched Gwen’s right shoulder tentatively, and she pulled away, ready to be done with these people and this place.

She thrust her marked hand, fingers splayed, toward the sealed rift, and grimaced, feeling it snag like a knotted piece of thread made of glass shards. She grunted in pain and she yanked hard, gasping at the surge of energy that burst through her as she unspooled the wayward tendril.

A shaft of light shot out of the rift, over her head, and she lost the thread. The ground shook violently and Gwen twisted around, her eyes widening at the sight of the demon that swelled from a boiling green pool of muted light on the ground.

“Holy shit balls, that thing is huge…” she whispered, her adrenaline surging.

_Fucking bitchass Pride Demon._

“NOW!” Cassandra bellowed.

The demon bellowed back at Cassandra as the archers behind her fell back, loosing as they went, but the arrows were just bouncing off the demon’s hide. The creature stomped forward as Cassandra charged, hacking its legs with her blade, and shouted, “We need to wear down its defenses!”

Then the damn thing laughed and a ball of lightning flickered and grew in one of its claws, and sparking as it uncoiled. The demon lashed out with its lightning whip, some of the men shifting in time, but many were unable to dodge, knocking several soldiers and Cassandra onto their backs.

Gwen was scared shitless, but discovered there’s no incentive quite like that of a Pride demon laughing at you to get your dander up.

 _Oh, I’m gonna end you, asshole_.

Tough words.

She looked for Solas on the field and ran over to him, shoving a couple healing potions at him. She had to shout over the din, “Keep a barrier up on Cassandra as much as you can!”

She didn’t wait for a response as she dug her staff into the ground from there and held her arm up, grasping for another thread from the tangled rift, and as soon as she found it, she tore it open. Gwen looked back quickly and saw that Cassandra got back on her feet as the demon howled, genuflecting in agony. The Seeker roared and she and the soldiers charged the demon’s back while it was down, arrows finding purchase at last, filling up the demon’s flesh like a pincushion.

Varric caught Gwen’s eye, smiled and gave her a quick thumbs up. The smile didn’t last as worry overtook it. A squealing grunt was the only warning Gwen had as a shade knocked into her, but had no effect on her. She noticed the quickly fading blue shimmer of a barrier on her and threw Solas a sidelong glance, his own concentration on another shade. He had blatantly ignored what she told him about shielding Cassandra. Her urge to punch him in the face was renewed.

 _I can’t set his barrier spell to Preferred on a tactics menu, or who it should be on. Damn Egg…_ _JUST DO WHAT I TELL YOU TO DO!_

Varric, meanwhile, grabbed the attention of the shade that had been pestering Gwen, leaving a trail of caltrops while filling it with bolts. He didn’t see the shade coming at his flank, but Gwen did. She aimed her staff over Varric’s head and got it to focus on her long enough for Varric to drop another pile of caltrops in front of it, slowing it down enough to pin an explosive bolt to its back.

“That was close!” Varric shouted, giving Gwen a little salute.

By then, the pride demon had risen to its feet again, and archers from above helped down the shades.

Leliana jumped into the fray herself, letting an arrow loose, nailing massive demon in one of its eyeballs, only to see it bounce harmlessly off.

 _Goddammit_!

Again, Gwen raised her hand and unraveled another knot holding the rift in place, this time prepared for more shades to come through.

Solas stood beside Gwen, bleeding profusely from claw marks on his chest.

Gwen shoved him lightly. “I gave you the potions for a reason! Use them!”

She didn’t stick around for a reply, though, reaching into her pack for another potion as she ran to Cassandra, who was in no better shape. She pulled the cork out with her teeth and shouted, “Open your mouth, Seeker!” Cassandra did, but only to growl as she traded Gwen her sword for the potion temporarily.

Cassandra made a face, but nodded to Gwen, then yelled, “Look out!”

A fresh trio of shades had spawned and all were heading right for Gwen. She started to run around the stone pillar.

“Keep them off me!” Gwen yelled to anyone who was listening. Varric and Leliana responded. Cassandra had control of the Pride demon for the moment, and the majority of soldiers were concentrating their fire on the biggest target in the vicinity.

Gwen was playing keep away while also trying to get another shot at the rift. She ditched the shades and found a good spot to go for the rift again. She jammed her staff into the ground, sweating like a sinner in church while she held her arm up, teeth clenched, pulling at that rift with all her will. This apparently got the Pride demon’s attention. Gwen’s focus on the rift was such that by the time Varric’s warning penetrated her consciousness, it was too late.

“GWEN MOVE!”

_Just a little longer…_

Gwen didn’t move.

The three shades closed in on Gwen, and there was an electric sizzle and snap. She looked away from the hypnotic green trail of magic as a ball of lightning flew from the pride demons hands directly at her while claws descended on her from all sides. Eyes widening in fear, she braced herself, but she stood firm. A fraction of a second before the lighting hit, she felt the tingle of Solas’ magic as he cast another barrier over her, only for the lightning to instantly obliterate it. It bounced off her, and the remnants of the demon’s magic struck her staff. The result was a series of smaller lightning bolts striking the shades around her, leaving them paralyzed. Then flaming arrows pelted the shades from nearly every angle, rapidly turning the minor demons into puddles at Gwen’s feet.

With one more battle cry, Cassandra sunk her blade into the neck of the dying Pride demon, all the way to the hilt.

“Now, Gwen! Do it!”

Gwen raised her hand one last time, weaving the tear in the Veil back together. As it sealed, it sent out a wave of energy that she hadn’t expected, and it hit her so hard she went flying through the air and into the pillar of rock like a ragdoll.

She had one final thought before darkness overtook her:

_I hope it worked for their sake's too, Commander._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any comments, questions, and/or constructive crit are welcome! Thanks for reading. I took a little more time on this chapter because a) I had another project, as I mentioned, and b) I wanted to try and make it a little more exciting. I hope I managed. It'll go through more revisions I'm sure.
> 
> Next time in Gwenland:
> 
> Gwen feels a little faded, and more stuff and things happen! Shh, it's a sekrit!


	6. No One Expects the Inquisition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen has a harrowing experience, and learns all kinds of interesting and embarrassing lessons, and something about an inquisition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter may have some triggering stuff in the beginning for those sensitive to sad things, but I didn't make it too bad, hopefully. That said, um, well, I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Not beta'd, etc, etc.
> 
> *Revised (like wow heavily): 12/03/15

Gwen’s eyes opened slowly, and she squinted in the dark at the red numbers on her alarm clock. Had it really only been a couple of hours since she last looked at the time? She sat up and yawned, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she got her bearings. She was at home in her own, comfy, warm bed. It was still dark outside, and rain was pummeling the roof. Part of her head was still swimming in that intense dream it seemed, grimacing at the remaining sting from every single dream-wound. She hissed at the twinge in her back as she reached for the lamp on the nightstand and flicked the switch, shielding her eyes from the light.

Her left hand held a residual ache, and she flexed it as she studied it. There was nothing but callouses and small scars she was used to; no magical mark.

All was as it should be. She was just plain Gwen. She wasn’t a mage, or responsible for a world of people dependent on her for their survival.

She laughed to herself. “As if, Gwen, you self-important twit.”

Gwen was cold, but it didn’t matter, and she couldn’t bring herself to do anything about it, even as the skin on her arms prickled in the chilly air. She was back in reality now, alone and feckless.

She sighed, her brows drawing together as she considered the fast-fading dream. As horrific and terrifying as it was, she admitted to herself that the experience was exhilarating as well. She realized, strange as it was, that it felt good to be needed for something. She smiled at the memory of her banter with Varric, and her throat closed as she was overcome with sadness at the loss; foolish of her to miss her interactions with veritable strangers for a cause that never happened.

Would anyone here or anywhere notice she was gone? She doubted it, sinking deeper into her melancholy. The dream was a sharp reminder that even in her fantasy world, she would be a failure.

She just sat at the edge of her bed and asked herself, “What’s the point?”

A familiar voice whispered in her ear, “What is the point? Aren’t you tired? So tired? If you would only just sleep, everything would be fine and you wouldn’t be tired anymore.”

“Aidan?” Gwen frowned.

Technically Aidan was the ‘one who got away,’ and she once fancied herself hopelessly enamored of him for years. An emotional cripple who refused to give a relationship with her a chance. It took her a long time to find closure, but find it she had. She looked at him, his dark hair down to his shoulders like when she’d first met him. Confused, she asked him, “What are you doing here?”

“You’re shivering, love. Just stay close to me. Let me warm you until you fall asleep, and I’ll hold you while you dream.” Aidan wrapped his arms around her, and she melted against him. How many times had Gwen wanted this? Dreamt of this?

Something buzzed at the back of her brain, but Gwen couldn’t place it. Instead, she relaxed in Aidan’s arms as they tightened around her. “You said this was a bad idea, Aidan. That we were a bad idea.”

“I know, and I was wrong. I’m here now. You’re safe. Just rest. I have you now.”

“I’m glad. I missed you.” She sighed and breathed in the clean scent of him.

“There is no need to fight anymore. You don’t have to be strong anymore.”

Gwen didn’t want to be the strong one. This is what she wanted.

“Let go and be at peace,” Aidan murmured.

“Just keep me warm, please…” Gwen’s teeth chattered and her eyelids fluttered closed.

“You’ll always be warm and safe with me. That’s right, you’re almost there.” Gwen drifted in the cool darkness, Aidan’s arms almost painfully tight around her. She wanted to say something, but she didn’t have enough breath in her lungs to speak.

“You are hurting her. I can’t let you hurt her,” a new voice said, harsh, jangling roughly between her ears.

_Just let me go. I want to go. This is what I want._

_“You cannot take her from me. She has already given so much of herself, and I would be cruel if I did not put her out of her misery.”_

_“She can be full of joy and should be. She will be. I won’t let you do this.”_

_“Ha! She is weak like you!”_

_“I help the hurt, and so does she. That is not weakness. I am not weak. She is not weak. She is stronger than you know.”_

_“Didn’t you hear her? She doesn’t want to be strong.”_

_“Get out of her mind! You’re hurting her, and they NEED her!”_

_“Away with you, little one. I found her. I feed on her.”_

_“I’m sorry, but I can’t allow you to do this. It’s time for you to go.”_

_“I think not.”_

Everything was wrong. This was all wrong. This feeling, this despair wasn’t her. She sucked in one long breath and hissed, “L-l-l-leave, Aidan. Had your ch-chance.”

“I told you she was strong. If you won’t leave, you die.”

Thrown from Aidan’s embrace to the floor, her eyelids too heavy to open yet as she was surrounded by sounds of a violent scuffle. It could’ve been hours or seconds until she was enveloped by a bone chilling shriek, curling in on herself. Then different arms held her, warm, gentle. Her eyes opened a fraction, finding herself floating under a sky was so blue and perfect, she almost wept. Calm ocean waves lapped at the sandy shore, and gulls called softly in the air. The surf nibbled at her toes as she was placed on the sand with care. A soft breeze played over her face, and gentle fingers brushed through her hair.

“You always liked the water, the cold,” the warm voice that belonged to the warm arms said. “You prayed for it once. You don’t like being away from it.”

Gwen squinted up, trying to see the face that went with the voice. Sad, blue eyes peered at her through a curtain of stringy blond hair, shaded by an ill-fitting hat. She knew him. She remembered him. “Cole? Am I dreaming? What are you doing here?”

“Yes? You almost died. You needed help with the hurt.”

“That has always been your way.” She smiled.

“Despair was killing you, but it can’t hurt you anymore.”

Gwen took one of his hands and squeezed. “Thank you, Cole.”

The boy’s lips curved up in a watery smile for a moment before drooping again. “You should be careful, you know. You are like me, but not enough like me. You feel too much of the hurt. You heal too much of the hurt, and when you do it, you don’t always do it right. You take the pain into you. You shouldn’t do that.”

“I know. I try not to.”

“But sometimes they push and you can’t stop them. So you need help. That’s why I’m here. And the others, too.”

“Others?”

“Others to guide. To teach and protect. They are here for you. They want to meet you.”

“Teach me what?”

“What you need to know. To protect yourself. To not be afraid of yourself. To let your light shine. They have the tools to show you. They are coming now, and I must go.”

“Of course, Cole. Will I see you here again?”

“No. You will probably forget about this when you wake, but you will see me again. I promise. I will help you outside the Fade.” He tapped her forehead gently and smiled.

“Until we meet again, then, Cole.”

He smiled at her and vanished.

Gwen was smiling on a beach, and she wasn’t sure why. She stood up, scratching her head as she looked around. It was such a beautiful day, who was she to question why she was smiling? She shaded her eyes and looked down the beach and saw two robed figures with staves walking toward her, one much taller than the other. The tall one waved. Assuming they were waving at her, she waved back hesitantly. She took one step in their direction, blinked, and they were suddenly standing before her.

She stumbled backward in surprise and gasped as the tall one caught her, grinning impishly at her. Warm brown eyes like whiskey, crinkled with laughter, and long strawberry-blond hair drawn back in an untidy queue. Gwen couldn’t help staring because he was not only attractive, but familiar, though who he was eluded her for the moment.

Someone cleared their throat, and Gwen’s attention shifted to the other robed figure. An older woman with steely white hair and sharp blue eyes, looking down her nose at her and the man who was holding her.

She blinked, and took a step back, and it came to her, tears welling up in her eyes in recognition. The older woman spoke, prim and proper, “It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Gwen. I am Wynne, and this young wastrel is Anders. A third, Marethari, will be coming along soon.”

“If you’re both here, are you…?”

“We are what we are, Gwen. In life, we learned much, and now in spirit, we've chosen to guard and teach.” Wynne squeezed her shoulder.

Gwen’s tears began to flow unchecked.

Anders enveloped her in a hug, and a feather from his robes fell off, tickling her nose. “Don’t be sad, chicken. We’ll be around you so much, you’ll get sick at the sight of us. You have fantastic hair, by the way. Always did love redheads.”

“Anders…” Wynne chided.

“Well, it’s true. The tattoo is a nice touch as well.”

“Anders!”

“Alright, alright, I’ll tone it down.” He rolled his eyes and smirked at Gwen.

Gwen laughed a little, and Wynne smiled. “That’s an improvement, at least. There is much for you to learn, my dear. We best start. We can only keep you here for so long.”

Anders’ arms relaxed around Gwen, and he kept an arm around her shoulders. “Your body is still recovering from the damage you took, but by the time we’re done with you, you’ll have learned basics from the three of us, potions and all.”

“As you grow in power outside the Fade, what you learn from us here will be made available as you need it in the waking world.” Wynne added.

“In other words, you’ll just know how to tap into it your magic without harming yourself or the wrong target. Most of the time.” Anders winked.

_Cheeky monkey._

“Then what?” Gwen asked.

Anders opened his mouth, but Wynne was ready with a reply, “Then we will be your guardian spirits until our task is done. There are others, but you’ll meet them over time.”

“What she means is that you’re stuck with us until your dying day, basically.”

“Anders!” Wynne swatted his shoulder.

Anders released Gwen to rub his injured shoulder, pouting just a little. “Ow! Hey, I lost Justice, not honesty!”

“You lost tact as well, I take it,” Wynne muttered.

“Are these shems makin’ a mess of things, da’len?” An elderly Dalish woman stepped between Anders and Wynne.

“Um, I’m a ‘shem’ though, aren’t I?” Gwen blinked.

The three experienced mages exchanged looks, then looked at Gwen.

_Did I step in dream-dog-poo or something?_

“It’s complicated,” said Wynne.

Marethari looked apologetically at Gwen, and Anders looked like he was about to say something, but changed his mind when Wynne shook her head.

Wynne tensed as Anders spoke, “Well, it’s not really important right now. LOOK SOMETHING SHINY! Hey lets learn some magic!”

The elder human mage relaxed after Anders changed the subject and Gwen let it go.

“Let us begin, da’len,” Marethari said.

Thus Gwen’s frustrating, yet fascinating lessons began, as she soaked up any and all knowledge like a good sponge. Just when it all seemed like it was all about to be too much, Wynne, Anders, and Marethari huddled together, then nodded all at once. All three turned to face Gwen.

Then Wynne stepped forward and declared, “Time to wake up, Gwen.”

**-Back to Reality-**

Gwen woke to the sound of voices trickling in from the front yard, groaning as she burrowed deeper under her nest of blankets when after one naked toe was exposed to the cold air.

Her dreams from the previous night were still at the edge of her mind, though at the front she was pondering whether she was brave enough to venture into the hall to turn on the ancient heater. Her muscles complained vehemently when she moved, however. That’s when she noticed how hard mattress suddenly seemed to be. She sniffed and wrinkled her nose at the smell of her sheets.

“Ergh, I need to do laundry,” she grumbled.

Gwen pushed the covers off and sat up, throwing her legs over the side.

She shivered, and bare feet hit the floor, expecting the nubby texture of carpet, but finding… fur?

_WHAT?_

Gwen’s eyes snapped open.

_Not my bedroom._

Gwen squeezed her eyes shut, rubbed them vigorously, and opened them again.

_Oh, no. No, no, no, no…_

She was in a rustic cabin. A very familiar rustic cabin.

_Am I still dreaming? Am I… dead?_

Her mouth tasted like bong water, which made her fierce case of cottonmouth unsurprising. On top of that, muscles Gwen forgot she had felt bruised, and the cold air on her bare skin wasn’t helping.

_Wait… Where are my pajamas? What am I wearing? String bikini bottoms? Whose bright idea was that?_

Gwen squeaked and crawled back under the smelly pile of blankets on the uncomfortable, lumpy thing excuse for a mattress. The feather tick was scratchy against her skin. Everything was scratchy and itchy.

_Oh gods, don’t tell me there are fleas. There are fleas, aren’t there? I don’t even have a cat… Oh my god, what if there’s lice? Ewwwwwww!_

That thought was enough to get her up and out of bed, standing on the hard-packed earthen floor, in nothing but the flimsy bikini bottom.

Gwen’s eyes darted about, taking in her surroundings. The windows had no drapes, revealing sunlit snow piled high on the ground outside, but there were lit iron sconces beside them, and a fire crackling in the hearth that offered more light. There was a barrel draped with a ragged cloth acting as a makeshift nightstand beside the bed, and wax from the flickering candle atop it coated the base.

 _What enchanting décor_ …

An empty birdcage sat on the floor with other odds and ends. A variety of animal skins were nailed to the walls, with the strange addition of a creepy portrait. There were a couple roughhewn bookcases against the wall near the foot of the bed. A small chair with accompanying cluttered desk sat opposite the bed. There was also a small table at the foot of the bed with a plate, and a bottle of wine. On the floor beside the table was a lute, of all things.

 _Maybe not dead. Just thoroughly delusional?_ _You’d think being dead would mean being more comfortable and less cold_.

Mired in her own thoughts, she didn’t react right away as the door of the cabin opened and clicked shut. A young girl casually strode in, smiling and humming to herself, in carrying a tiny crate in her hands.

Gwen froze.

Their eyes met.

“AHhhhHHHHhhh!”

“AHHHHHhHhhHhhHh!’

The box hit the floor with a tinkle of glass and the girl kowtowed, while a furiously blushing Gwen grabbed the closest thing at hand to cover herself with. Gwen learned that day that it was difficult to find a graceful way to adequately cover oneself with an inadequate amount of animal hide.

_Goat couture…Ugh fuck you brain…_

“My apologies, m’lady. I didn’t know you were awake, I swear. I didn’t mean startle you.”

_Well, this is awkward._

Gwen remembered this girl from the game, and how she seemed scared of her own shadow. She didn’t want the girl to feel that way, especially while Gwen was basically naked, and freezing her assets off.

“Erm, that’s alright. You couldn’t have known. I, erm, it’s cold and I—“

She didn’t have a chance to finish her sentence when the flew open and slammed against the wall with one sword-wielding Commander Cullen filling the doorway.

He noticed the girl on the floor first. “Is everything alright? Is she…” Then his eyes darted over to the bed, where Gwen was presumably supposed to still be sleeping, only she wasn’t.

_If I know an invisibility spell, now would be a great time for it…_

Too late. The Commander’s eyes finally found their intended target, his mouth falling open as he stared at Gwen for an indeterminate amount of time.

Gwen prayed for the ground to open and swallow her whole.

The man’s voice cracked as he said, “Maker’s breath.” He blinked, and to Cullen’s credit, he finally averted his gaze. “Apologies. I heard the screams and I just assumed, well, I, ah, ahem… I will leave you to dress, my lady.” The Commander’s face was as red as his surcoat as he made a swift exit.

_Aaaaaaaaaaand I thought shit was awkward before…_

Gwen’s face might have become a volcano as it erupted with heat. She made quite the sight, she was sure. Short, tubby girl trying to hide behind an itty bitty goat skin. Good thing she wasn’t here to date because that would probably be in the Commander’s demonic night terrors for the rest of his days.

_Just keep your thoughts on the important shit, Gwen._

“M’lady, I humbly beg your forgiveness and your blessing. How may I serve you?”

Gwen cleared her throat, finally finding her voice again. “Erm, well, maybe we can call it even if you can just find me something to wear other than Gary the Goat here and this nappy?”

The young elf glanced up at her with a tiny smile, and laughed. “As you say, m’lady.” The girl rose to her feet and unlocked a chest on the floor beside the desk. She first pulled out a clean nappy for Gwen to wear, and Gwen managed to figure those out alright while the elf laid pulled clothes out of the chest.

_Smallclothes… They weren’t joking about small part. Cripes…_

The girl draped her now cleaned and patched breeches and mended mercenary tunic over the back of the desk chair, then unrolled a length of cloth that Gwen did not know the purpose of.

Gwen lifted a corner of the cloth strip and looked at it, and the elf who had been so nervous before was suddenly in her element, chin held high. “If I may, m’lady, I would ask that you allow me to help you dress. You’re still bruised and, well, Master Solas and the apothecary would surely have my hide if I didn’t help. They’ll both be wanting to you now that you’re awake. Least you’re not near so bad as you were when they brought you back here to Haven. You were near dead, m’lady. They say you saved us and the Breach stopped growing, just like the mark on your hand. The Breach isn’t gone, but what you did is all anyone has been able to talk about for the last seven days.”

_SEVEN DAYS?! I SLEPT FOR SEVEN DAYS?!!!?_

The elf stepped behind Gwen with the mystery cloth in hand. “Lift your arms, if you please, m’lady.” Gwen did so, dropping the Gary the Goat on the floor, and the girl wrapped the cloth around above, below, and over Gwen’s “girls”, like an ACE bandage for boobs in a way, securing it in the front like a pro. Gwen was impressed. Squished, but impressed.

While Gwen pulled on her breeches and fussed with the laces, the elf brought out a brush and comb. Then Gwen pulled the tunic over her head, and the elf maneuvered her into the desk chair, then expertly brushed, combed, and braided Gwen’s hair.

“M’lady has such long, lovely hair. And it’s so soft… How d’you keep your hair so soft?”

_Blood magic? No, I can’t joke about that. Yet…_

Gwen tried to think of a reply that would make sense without sounding alien. She had little to no idea what was normal here. She used a conditioning method and rarely shampooed. Did they even have shampoo here? “Oh, erm, thank you. I, erm, use a special mixture of lavender and other herbs. Erm, like a poultice for hair.”

“A poultice for hair?” The elf was quiet a moment then laughed. “M’lady is funny.”

Gwen gave the elven girl an unsure smile. “Thank you for helping me.”

The girl beamed. “It is my honor, m’lady.” Then the elf squeaked and her big eyes got even bigger. “I was supposed to go to the Chantry and inform Seeker Cassandra once you’d wakened! She insisted she be informed at once!” The girl curtsied and sprinted out of the cabin with one last “m’lady” trailing behind her.

She didn’t have a chance to ask the girl her name. Hopefully Gwen would find her later. She prayed she wouldn’t see the Commander for a good long while, though “never again” felt fine given the current state of things.

Gwen pulled on a pair of thick woolen socks and her demon-stained boots, blushing anew at the humiliation of the Commander walking in on the sight of her. She could easily cool her cheeks in the snowbank just out the window, but it wouldn’t lessen the bright red color of her face.

 _I guess it’s time to see Cassandra in the Chantry_.

She opened the door of the cabin and stepped outside, pulling the door shut with an ominous creak.

“Think the Commander broke the door,” she muttered to herself.

When she turned around, however, the door was forgotten. There were soldiers and civilians lining the dirt road, packed together, and now every single pair of eyes in that crowd was trained on her.

Gwen froze like a deer in headlights, mouth slightly agape.

_How did you all gather so fucking fast?! …Cullen must’ve told them before the girl did. @($ &^$%&_

The residents of Haven didn’t have the same sullen, angry looks she’d received her first time consciously walking through the town with Cassandra. In fact now, Gwen thought the looks on their faces were downright scary. The mixture of awe and relief made her cringe inwardly.

_I AM NOT WHO YOU THINK I AM!_

Gwen, going for nonchalant, tried ignoring the crowd initially, but the further she walked, the more the soft murmurs and undeserved looks of adulation penetrated her thin façade. Then, to up the ante on awkward, they began to applaud. Her mortification rising exponentially, and she walked that much faster to escape the attention. She rushed up one set of steps, then another, and swung a left, but spotted the Commander’s furry shoulders facing away from her.

_NOPENOPENOPE.gif_

An abrupt about-face had her zipping around the tavern instead, up more steps, and she made a beeline for the Chantry doors and keeping her eyes on the ground. She grabbed the handle of one of the heavy doors and pushed inside, the door making a resounding _CLANG_ as she closed it.

Gwen leaned against the door, taking a moment to calm the frantic beating of her heart and allow her breath to slow. Her eyes roamed the dim light of the Chantry interior, observing details she missed when Cassandra dragged her out of the dungeon seven days ago.

 _Seven. Bloody. Days_.

Her feet echoed on the stone floor toward the war room door. Well, what would soon be the war room, if things were going in the direction she expected them to.

There were rushes strewn over the floor, and crates, barrels, baskets, and boxes lying everywhere. Incense permeated the air, and candles flickered all around, bringing to mind memories of the many old abbeys she’d visited while traveling. Abbeys she wasn’t sure she’d ever have a chance to visit again, and her heart constricted at the thought.

In all, the Chantry was serene, with the glaring exception of the shouting match echoing from behind the war room door.

Gwen paused outside the chamber door, and considered knocking. She looked at the thick, aged oaken door and figured she’d probably just hurt her knuckles on the thing. With one bracing breath, she opened the door and stepped in, her head turning slightly as she caught a whiff of the Templars standing guard beside the door. It was essentially like nose sex. She had to bite back a laugh at that.

_That scent should be outlawed, whatever it is. Eau de Templar? FOCUS, GWEN!_

One Chancellor Roderick glowered dubiously at Gwen, his knobbly finger pointing at her as he barked, “Chain her! I want her prepared for travel to the capital for trial.”

“Disregard that and leave us,” Cassandra immediately countermanded. The clinking of plate armor announced the departure of the Templars as they marched out and the door clicked shut.

“You walk a dangerous line, Seeker.”

“The Breach is stable, but it is still a threat. _I_ will not ignore it.”

“A threat that remains because the one who created it still walks freely among us,” the Chancellor spat.

Gwen rubbed her temples, feeling a little lightheaded as she replied, “I did what I could to help. I’ll do more if need be. I’ll even submit to a trial if you wish, but a trial won’t fix the hole in the sky. I’m told I was as good as dead by the time I was brought back to Haven. What more do you want of me, Chancellor?”

“Rather convenient that you survived, I would say…”

The Seeker took a threatening step toward the Chancellor. “Have a care, Chancellor. The Breach is not the only threat we face.”

“Someone was behind the explosion at the conclave. Someone Most Holy did not expect. Perhaps they died with the others or even have allies who still yet live.” Leliana said, emerging from the shadows.

 _Spooky_.

“Do you mean to imply that I am a suspect, Sister Nightingale?” The Chancellor seemed shocked that anyone could possibly question his virtue.

Leliana narrowed her eyes at Roderick. “You, Chancellor, and many others.”

“But not the prisoner?”

“I heard the voices in the temple. The Divine called to her for help!” Cassandra stated in Gwen’s defense, much to Gwen’s surprise.

“So her survival, that thing on her hand, are all a coincidence?”

“I say providence. The Maker clearly sent you to us in our darkest hour,” Cassandra said leveling her earnest gaze at Gwen.

Gwen almost choked on her own astonishment. Days ago it seemed the woman couldn’t have cared less if Gwen lived or died. In fact, much like the Chancellor, it seemed most everyone prefer the latter. “Are you sure the Maker would choose to send someone like me?”

“The Maker does as He wills. It is not for me to say.”

_I wish that answer worked for everything…_

“The Breach remains and your mark is still our only hope for closing it,” Leliana said quietly.

“This is not for you to decide.” The Chancellor tried to flex power he never had again, and failed abysmally.

Cassandra whirled around and slammed a thick book down on the table. “You know what this is, Chancellor?”

Roderick swallowed audibly, his face flushed as Cassandra continued.

“This is a writ from the Divine granting _us_ the authority to act. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn.” Cassandra walked toward the Chancellor, backing him up against the wall, her finger prodding his chest as she spoke, “We _will_ close the Breach. We _will_ find those responsible, and we _will_ restore order, with or without your approval.”

Goosebumps broke out over Gwen’s skin listening to Cassandra’s impassioned speech. Though it seemed that Chancellor Roderick was well on his way to an ulcer as well as out the door as the man stalked out. It was a pity the old bulldog was so obstinate, but there was little Gwen could do for him without risking far more. Her presence was already mucking things up.

She looked at Leliana who spoke reverently as she ran her fingers over the writ. “This is the Divine’s directive. Rebuild the Inquisition of old, find those who will stand against the chaos. We aren’t ready. We have no leader. No numbers. And now, no Chantry support.”

“But we have no choice. We must act now. Preferably with you at our side.” Cassandra looked down at Gwen.

Gwen’s heart swelled with inspiration, though knowledge of her growing burden already weighed heavily on her shoulders. She had to do this. It wasn’t about her. It was about the people of Thedas. She at least owed it to them to try.

Gwen held her right hand out to Cassandra. “Well, if we’re going to set things right, then I think we best get started. Chaos waits for no one.”

Cassandra clasped Gwen’s in hers and giving it a firm shake, smiling warmly down at her as Leliana grasped Gwen’s shoulder.

_And cut-scene…………………………_

_Nope. Hungry. Full bladder. Gonna do the peepee dance in a minute…_

“You are right. Please forgive my hasty judgements from before. I never learned your name and I…”

“There is nothing to forgive, Seeker, and my name is Gwen Harwood. I could, however, use some food, and maybe a tour of Haven, preferably starting with the latrine?” Gwen made a face.

Cassandra gasped and apologized. “Of course!” She hurried Gwen to a garderobe in the Chantry.

Leliana laughed and called after them, “Welcome to the Inquisition, Gwen Harwood!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Gwen meets more people, gets pulled into the war room, and... >.> stuff.


	7. How to Win Friends and Influence Thedas Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen's grand tour of Haven and a chat with Varric.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter turned out to be lengthier than I wanted, and went through more than one version. I ended up splitting it up after making a couple changes. So two updates instead of one!
> 
> Not beta'd, as per usual.
> 
> *Revised: 12/03/15

Cassandra’s fascinating and informational copper tour of Haven included the Chantry garderobe, a brief mention of the new Chantry rug donated by some Arl whose name the Seeker couldn’t recall, an outdoor latrine, the training dummies, and the location of the Seeker’s tent.

Gwen was left to her own devices after that with only one instruction from Cassandra. “Meet me back at the Chantry at three bells.” Gwen’s stomach chose that moment to roar a passionate complaint of its emptiness. Cassandra stared at Gwen’s belly as if a demon were about to claw its way out. Gwen had a sudden vision of Cassandra as Ripley from _Aliens_ in that scene when she was strapped into the power loader yelling, “GET AWAY FROM HER, YOU BITCH!”

_Man, I kinda wanna watch that right now. I wonder if Cassandra would like it? Or maybe she’d prefer romantic comedies? OOOOoo, she’d be such a Skinamax watcher._

Outside of Gwen’s colorful head canon, however, Cassandra said something different, “And get yourself something to eat at the tavern.” So two instructions, really. The Seeker hurried off, and leaving Gwen rocking on her heels.

Gwen took a moment to absorb the people and her surroundings. The denizens of Haven still cast furtive glances in her direction, and others stared outright. Far more souls were milling around Haven than the game ever revealed. More recruits were sparring around a much larger encampment while Chantry sisters and brothers wove in and out, praying and aiding the injured. The forge was not too much larger, but the hammers were louder. There was a large empty animal pen close to the main gate, and what looked like a stable just up the road from the forge.

If Gwen passed by two or three people huddled together, whispering, she would have had to shoulder into conversation to hear it, so listening in on gossip amid the clamor wasn’t as easy as the game made it seem. Plus, no subtitles.

Gwen veered toward the tavern, lost in thought. It was getting old quick. She pried the door of the tavern open just as Varric was leaving and she yelped as he stepped on her toes. “HA! I’ll be a nug’s uncle! Glad to see you’re awake, Firecracker! We were worried about you there for a while. And sorry about your toes. Come on inside chat with me. You eaten yet?”

Gwen bit her lip and shook her head as the dwarf lead her back into the tavern. Varric directed Gwen to a table and called for a round of Flissa’s best, “and some food for the lady with the glowing hand.”

Gwen rolled her eyes.

Flissa sidled up to the table with tankards in one hand and a platter in the other, taking her sweet time setting it all down. Subtlety was not a skill existing in Flissa’s current curriculum vitae.

“So people were actually worried? I’m touched.”

“Don’t knock it, Firecracker. A lot of them think you are. In a divine way.”

“So that’s the one you’ve decided on?” Gwen ignored the stuff about divinity. She was about as holy as a donut hole.

_Mmm, forbidden donut holes..._

There was a loud twang and Gwen spotted the bard, Maryden, tuning her lute-dealie while singing a scale.

“It totally fits. The red hair, the glowing hand, the sparkling wit, and the potential for an explosive temper. Yeah. Firecracker. That’s you all over,” Varric said with a wink.

“My hair isn’t _that_ red. It’s more brown than red,” Gwen muttered.

Flissa chose that moment to slide a platter a food in front of Gwen who smiled at the tavern keeper. “Thank you,” Gwen said with a nod. Flissa sputtered, blushed, and skittered back behind the safety of the bar.

_Jumpy much? Dang._

“You should’ve seen the way our Commander guarded your cabin like mabari war hound the whole time you were asleep,” Varric continued.

At the mention of the Commander, Gwen took a deep swig from her flagon of ale to distract herself from the inevitable blush that would ensue.

“And Solas. Solas hovered. I haven’t known the man long, and he doesn’t strike me as the hovering type, but hover he did. Mostly after Adan couldn’t handle you after the second day, and Solas threw him out. Then said hovering commenced. He only let that elf, Rosalee, in to clean you up. You’ve garnered quite a following already.”

Maryden had been made aware of Gwen’s presence, apparently, and announced the next song was dedicated to their savior, the chosen of Andraste. “~I feel sun through the ashes in the sky~”

_Dammit, I love that song. FOCUS, GWEN! DO NOT SING ALONG!_

Gwen hid her face in her hands, tried to ignore all the eyes on her, and instead focus on Varric, shitty ale, and her food. Then she frowned a little. “Wait, the Commander was guarding the cabin I was in? Why? Doesn’t he have recruits to train?” She dipped a chunk of bread in the ale soften it because that shit was hard as a rock. Gwen understood how there were actual weapons made of food in the game now. The bread from the Singing Maiden would make a lethal bludgeon.

_Death by baguette._

“Cullen’s second-in-command handled training exercises while Cullen kept an eye on you. As to why, his reasons were a little shady when I asked him.”

“Define ‘shady’…” Gwen nibbled on a pieced of beer-sodden bread and made a face.

“He looked… worried? He said he was, and I quote, ‘watching to ensure she is free of possession.’ Even after everything that happened. Old habits die hard I guess. My gut tells me there was more to it than that, though.”

“Old habits? And what _more_?”

“Commander Cullen used to be a Templar. He fought with Hawke against the previous Knight-Commander after she went apeshit from her extended close proximity to that red lyrium stuff. The Seeker found us both there in Kirkwall, then dragged me and him out here. I think he actually _volunteered_ though.”

“Ah, so another reason for him to dislike me. What’s the ‘more to it’ you mentioned?” Gwen eyeballed a suspicious looking chunk mystery meat on the platter, and went for the hard cheese instead.

“I think he didn’t trust anyone else to do it. I also think he felt guilty.”

“Guilty? For what?” Gwen said with a cheek full of cheese.

“For being kind of an asshole to you on our way to the temple. He’s still a little touchy after Kirkwall.”

_YOU DON’T SAY!_

She took another gulp of ale to wash down the taste of the cheese. She wondered what she could use to wash down the taste of the ale. “I can hardly blame anyone for being an asshole to me that day. I would’ve been an asshole to me if I didn’t know me either.”

Varric chuckled. Then Gwen relayed the events that occurred after she woke up earlier to him.

“I would’ve paid good money to see Curly’s face after he walked out.” Varric started cackling, only interrupted by an occasional hiccup.

“You should’ve seen it when he walked in.”

Varric wheezed. “Mercy! I’m getting a cramp from all this laughter. Ahhh… Honestly though, for you to come out of all that alive?” He shook his head. “And now you’ve gone from the most wanted criminal in Thedas to joining the ranks of the faithful. Most people would’ve spread that out over more than one day.”

“Didn’t I take a seven day nap of doom? I’m sure that counts as more than one day.”

“I’ll assume you willingly agreed, or we’d be having this conversation through bars courtesy of the Seeker.” Varric snorted.

It was Gwen’s turn to laugh. “Yes, I joined of my own volition.” She sipped from her tankard again. Gwen could only liken her experience with dwarven ale as being equivalent to imbibing carbonated dirt.

“Glad I’ll have some decent company around here, at least.” Varric patted her hand. “So have they assigned you yet?”

Gwen shrugged, took a sip of the ale. “No, but I’m sure whatever I do will probably involve using my extra special mark of super specialness.”

“By the way, while I was persuading Harritt, the resident blacksmith, to work on new fittings for Bianca, he asked me to pass on a message to you. Seems Harritt and the boys at the forge made some new gear for you.”

“So, Varric, how much is this food and drink going to cost me? And the gear? I’m not exactly swimming in coin at the moment.”

“After what you did? Consider this one on me, Firecracker. Don’t worry about the little stuff. You’re one of us now. We’ve got you covered.”

“Who’s ‘us’ exactly?” Gwen laughed.

“The good guys, of course.”

“Oh, Varric, didn't anyone tell you? Every villain thinks they’re the hero in their own mind.” She winked.

“Ouch!” He clutched his chest melodramatically and laughed.

The Chantry bells rang twice.

Gwen grinned, stood up, and gave Varric's hands a squeeze. “Thank you, Varric. I’ll go see Harritt I think, I’ll talk more with you later?”

“You better, Firecracker.”


	8. How to Win Friends and Influence Thedas Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse into the mind of an Egg, Gwen gets new duds, and war councils make Gwen's head hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of 2.  
> Not beta'd.
> 
> Not a ton of action in these last couple chapters, but it can't all be pewpew fireballs and stuff. Also, some future chapters have been written, with only gaps in between to fill.

**~Solas, the Apostate~**

 

Solas’ eyes tracked Gwen as she exited the dingy tavern, a smile on her pale, oval face, and mirth in her soft brown eyes. His relief at her recovery was immense. Little Rosalee had run to him with the news, babbling on about how kind she was, if a little embarrassed after a mishap with the Commander and something regarding a goat. The girl then ran to tell the Seeker, and it seemed a red-faced Commander Cullen had rallied Haven with the knowledge of that Gwen had awakened at last. Solas had watched her scamper into the Chantry past the throng of onlookers who had crowded together to look about their lauded savior.

Seven days of watching, waiting, and dreaming. Adan was barely competent as an apothecary, and certainly no skilled healer. The man could barely apply a bandage adequately. If Solas hadn’t insisted Adan return to making potions and exploding jars instead of killing the wounded, Gwen might have been lost to them.

Once Solas took over her treatment, it gave him the chance to step into Gwen’s dreams in the Fade. He thought he would teach her to heal herself from within, as it was well within his ability to do so. Solas had been dismayed to discover, however, that Gwen’s mental fortifications were nigh impregnable. He was angry, then curious about why someone would need such protection. It seemed no one was getting into Gwen’s head without her explicit permission, and Solas smiled at the thought of the challenge she presented.

The woman was as wary as Solas was about sharing information about herself. Gwen also had a penchant for redirecting attention to evade questions she did not desire to answer. Thus Solas, the apostate, would earn Gwen’s trust, and then the information he sought would flow easily.

It irked Solas that he needed anyone, let alone a human now given a title of human religious significance because of the mark she bore. His mark. Solas studied the mark further as Gwen slept, and surmised that he could not remove it from her without her death.

It was never supposed to happen this way and he was still too weak. He berated himself for his pride. He had been prepared to sacrifice the blighted magister for his needs, but Gwen was something new. Something unexpected, offering a possibility of a solution better than what Solas had originally planned. Solas hoped that Gwen would be what he, indeed, what all Thedas needed, Herald of the fabled Andraste or not. Gwen was the only hope Solas had left of even beginning to fix his mistakes.

 

**~Back in Gwenville~**

 

The Chantry bells rang thrice as Gwen strode out of the cabin, standing a little straighter and feeling very…mage-y in her new gear. The very height of Thedosian n00b mage couture. Harritt had even made a fancy harness for her staff, and Gwen was kinda digging her cowl, even if she had no idea what she looked like, perhaps she even strutted a little. Like that Sims ‘Just Got Some’ swagger. She quit before she looked like a complete douche canoe. Gwen couldn’t stop a smiled from forming at the tingling of her fingertips, though. She knew what that tingle was now. She felt it in her bones. Some of which were still protesting the cold. Magic.

_I CAN DO FRICKIN MAGIC YO!_

Gwen thought about testing out a spell or two, and if it would work on rocks or tree stumps, because the idea of stalking the local wildlife to test skills didn’t sit well with her. She hadn’t even seen a nug yet.

_SQUEAKY LIL NUGS… Crap, how am I going to survive here if I can’t bear the idea of killing what amounts to a giant rat-rabbit-pig-thing? I’m going to become a drunk, I just know it…_

She passed Varric standing outside his tent and shading her eyes as she watched two ravens fly overhead.

_It has begun…_

Gwen looked over at Varric, and he looked at her, nodded, and stroked his stubbly chin. “Looking good, Firecracker. Looking good.”

“Thanks, Varric.” Gwen smiled and waved as she turned toward the tavern. She hoped the cowl hid her blush as she didn’t do well with compliments.

Strains of ‘Empress of Fire’ bled through the thin tavern walls over the laughter inside, and Gwen hummed along. Someone was hammering in the direction of the Chantry and it was spookily in time with the music. Halfway up the steps, she caught saw Cullen from behind, nailing a notice to the Chantry door. Sister Leliana and Josephine stood facing the Chantry at the top of the stairs and a scowling Chancellor Roderick pushed himself between them, bumping into Gwen on his way down.

Gwen glanced behind her at the top of the stairs in time to see Cassandra coming in her direction. The Seeker actually smiled a little as recruits stood to attention while she passed.

A crowd had gathered in front of the Chantry, and Gwen’s heart did a little leap in her chest as the Inquisition banner was unfurled above the Chantry doors. There was a healthy round of applause, with a series whoops and cheers. The gathering dispersed after short a time, with everyone in the camp returning to their duties. Leliana and Josephine were bickering with Cullen on their way into the Chantry, and Gwen smiled.

Cassandra touched Gwen’s elbow and inclined her head toward the Chantry, and they walked in together. “How are you feeling? Does the mark still pain you?”

“I feel like I slept for a week after being flung into a mountain of thorns by a trebuchet. As for the mark…” Gwen looked down at her left palm, and the mark, for the first time since she’d woken up. The skin around it was healed somewhat, but the mark angry scar. Gwen wasn’t sure what would happen the next time she closed a rift with it, and tried not to dwell.

“It’s fine.” Gwen wasn’t going to whine about her aches and pains to Cassandra.

“We take our victories where we can. Solas believes that adding more power of the same kind to your mark will enable you to seal the Breach.”

“An interesting theory. Why tell me?”

“Solas believes that sealing the smaller rifts is what enabled you survive after the encounter at the Breach. Did you sense any difference in your magic?”

“I was more focused on doing what I said I would than in contemplating how my magic felt or didn’t, but it isn’t a terrible theory. I’ll have to speak with Solas later about it, if I can find him.”

“He will most likely be found studying in one of the cabins near the apothecary.”

_New head canon. That copy of ‘The Randy Dowager Quarterly’belongs to the Pervy Egg, and he just hides it in another person’s bunk. Sneaky._

Gwen bit her lip to stop herself from laughing.

Cassandra opened the door of the war room and walked in with Gwen in tow. She looked around the room at everything except the Commander, loathe to speak to him after what happened earlier that day. She was paranoid she would make an ass of herself. Though part of her wondered why she gave a damn.

_Just focus on the serious stuff, Gwen. Don’t focus on the fluff. Sure it was embarrassing and it’ll be great fodder for stories, but now is not the time. SRSFACE NAO DO IT!_

Cassandra began making formal introductions, “Gwen Harwood, this is our ambassador and chief diplomat, Lady Josephine Montilyet.”

Josephine curtsied gracefully and smiled. “I am pleased to meet you at last, Lady Harwood.”

“I’m hardly nobility, Lady Montilyet.”

“I assumed you were a relative of Lord Harwood of Starkhaven. My apologies, Mistress Harwood.”

“If I have any relation to the Harwoods of Starkhaven, I am unaware of it. As I am an apostate, I rather doubt the family would want to be associated with me. Especially if this all goes tits up. Pardon my language.”

Josephine blushed prettily at Gwen’s colorful phrasing. “I would like to contact them all the same, if you do not mind, Mistress Harwood.”

 _Mistress…_ That didn’t bother Gwen so much. Though she thought she should have more vinyl, spikes, whips, and chains on hand to look the part.

“Not at all, my lady. If it may somehow help the Inquisition, then by all means, do what you think is best. I am here to serve.”

Cassandra cleared her throat at Gwen. “You may recognize the leader of our forces, Commander Cullen, whom you met briefly on the field.”

Gwen couldn’t stop her blush from spreading, but it seemed the Commander wasn’t immune, if the flush creeping up his throat was any indication. “It was brief, yes, and I was, well… I am very pleased you survived.” He rubbed the back of his neck and smiled sheepishly.

“And Sister Leliana, of course.”

“My position here involves a degree of…”

“She is our spymaster.”

“Yes. Tactfully put, Cassandra.” Leliana deadpanned.

Cassandra charged ahead with the conversation. “I already mentioned Solas’ theory about your mark requiring more power in order to close the Breach.”

“Ah, so the subject of power for the Breach has been broached.” Gwen didn’t bat an eyelash.

Cullen coughed and his lips twitched. At least he appreciated a play on words. He really did wear a serious expression a lot. Gwen considered plotting with Varric to do something about that.

Leliana wiped the smile off her face as she said, “Yes, which means we need to make contact with the rebel mages.”

“I still disagree. The Templars could serve just as well.” Cullen put his bitter-beer face on.

_Oh Cullen._

Then Cassandra said, “Regardless of the source, Commander, we need power. If enough magic is channeled through that mark…”

“It might destroy us all! Templars could suppress the Breach, weaken it so—“

“That is pure speculation, Commander.” Leliana sniffed.

“I was a Templar. I know full well what they are capable of.”

“Ahem…” Josephine interjected. “Still, as neither group will even speak to us yet, our options are limited. With the Chantry’s denouncement of the Inquisition and Mistress Harwood, we will have to seek other solutions.”

“Why should the Chantry’s opinion matter in any of this?” Gwen asked.

“Many now call you—an apostate—the Herald of Andraste. The remaining clerics have deemed it blasphemy, and we heretics for harboring you. The Chantry made its declaration out of fear.”

Gwen’s head was beginning to hurt.

“Chancellor Roderick’s doing, no doubt.” Cassandra’s lip curled in a sneer.

“Ah, I’ve been declared a heretic. Must be Thursday. Just one minor question: How am _I_ the Herald of Andraste?”

Gwen wasn’t even particularly religious. Spiritual, sure. She’d been raised Catholic up to a point, but had lapsed long before her Thedosian perma-nightmare.

“People saw what you did at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, how you stopped the Breach from growing. They’ve also heard about the woman seen in the rift when you were found. It is their belief that woman was Andraste.”

The pain in Gwen’s head was getting worse, and she rubbed at her stiffening neck beneath her cowl.

“And even if we attempted to stop that story from spreading--”

“Which we have not.”

_That’s -1 approval from Cassandra for Leliana right there…_

“The point is that everyone is talking and wondering about you.”

_Ugh, humans…_

“That’s quite the title, Mistress Harwood. How do you feel about that?”

Gwen looked at the Commander, and his tone had been teasing, but it didn’t make her more comfortable about the situation.

Gwen leveled her gaze at him. “Like I’ve dropped a goat skin.”

Gwen’s answer achieved a satisfactory reaction from Cullen. While Gwen _was_ being a smartass, she was also showing Cullen her level of discomfort in terms he would empathize with. That and the man also blushed rather prettily, and while Gwen wasn’t going to pursue anyone _but Corpyheus to the death_ , she could still appreciate aesthetics. She needed to keep her distractions to a minimum. That should be simple with all the practice she needed in wielding her staff and applying her magic, among other things.

“A goat skin?” Cassandra looked utterly perplexed.

“…A metaphor where I’m from to express extreme discomfort.”

“Ah.” Cassandra’s nodded as if she understood, but her expression said the opposite.

“I imagine the Chantry feels much the same,” Cullen said with a wry, and somewhat apologetic, smile.

_No, not the crooked grin with the lip scar! Cheeky fucker… FOCUS, GWEN!_

Gwen stared at the war table.

“The people are desperate for a sign of hope, Gwen. To many, you are that sign.”

Gwen slipped her cowl off, and rubbed her temples.

“And to many others, you symbolize everything that has gone wrong.”

“Definitely Thursday. I’m sorry to put you all through this. My presence isn’t helpful.”

“Let’s be honest. The Chantry would have found one reason or another to censure us, but your presence is necessary.” Cullen insisted.

“Indeed, you not being here is not an option.”

“Well, I don’t intend to sit around Haven letting my arse get wider. What do you need me to do?” Gwen was clenched her jaw tight without realizing it. The more her head hurt, the more other pains in her body nagged at her. She ignored it.

“I’m glad you asked. A chantry cleric named Mother Giselle requested to speak to you. She is not far from here, and knows those involved better than I. Her assistance could prove invaluable.”

“You’re sure she’d speak with a heretic apostate?”

“I’m told she is a reasonable woman. Perhaps she disagrees with her sisters? Who can say?”

“Well, where do I find her and how will I reach her?”

“She is tending the wounded in a small village in the Hinterlands, near Redcliffe.” Leliana walked over to the map and pointed to it, plunking a little marker on the location.

Cullen pointed to Haven on the map and said, “The journey is a few days ride by horse. We have a limited number of mounts, but you’ll have one for yourself at least. There is actually much you might do in the Hinterlands, given time. I know of a horse master in the area who used to tend the Arl’s stables. He may be persuaded to aid our cause.”

Leliana stepped in, “We will begin planning for your journey, if you agree to go. The faster we move on these things, the better off we will be. I will send word to my scouts when you’re ready, and they will find a place to set up a basecamp. We will use ravens to communicate and you must keep us updated as frequently as you can.”

Then it was Cullen’s turn to speak again. “While you travel, if you find anything that may be of use to us, or worthy of study that you can’t lug about, mark it on your map and report to the scouts in the evening. If the areas are clear, scouts will retrieve items and such in areas you mark. Are you good at making detailed lists? Can you sketch at all?”

Gwen pinched the bridge of her nose. Her ears were ringing, and she felt a little dizzy. This wasn’t a dream come true. It was a job at a renfaire with no pay. It wasn’t as if she could realistically run around with a bunch of bloody Inquisition banners tucked in her bags. Then there was ore, cloth, and other materials that she wouldn’t be able to actually carry at all times. She did not have a “Bag of Holding.”

“In the meantime, let us consider other options. I won’t leave this all to the Herald.”

Gwen felt light-headed and her fingers were trembling. “Well, you all have more to discuss, and I have to find a pallet for the evening.”

“A pallet? The cabin you awoke in is assigned as your quarters for the duration, Herald.”

“When it could hold at least four pallets? That’s ridiculous. I’m no better than anyone else here. I shouldn’t receive special treatment for a scar. A magical scar, but a scar all the same. Haven is a crowded mess, and I won’t have people sleeping in the cold when they could have warmer conditions. I have no coin, my clothes were a gift, and the only reason I have a staff is because a crate broke open after a bridge was hit by fallout from the breach and Cassandra allowed me to keep it in order to defend myself. I’ve already received too much attention as it is.” Gwen needed to lay down somewhere dark, and could only think of putting her head in some of that cold snow outside.

_Put me in the dungeon with a bucket of snow and a pillow and I’ll be fine._

“Herald, are you feeling alright?” Cassandra asked with genuine concern. “Perhaps you should not be…”

“My name isn’t Herald… Ah, damn.” Gwen felt her knees give way

Cassandra caught Gwen under her arms before she collapsed. Cullen jumped over the war table. “Lay her down, Cassandra and take her staff. Fetch Solas or Adan and I’ll take the Herald to her quarters.”

Cassandra did as Cullen asked and the Commander lifted Gwen up like she weighed nothing. Leliana opened the door for him and he ducked through, cradling Gwen in his arms.

“Lemme go, you brute…” Gwen’s eyes were clamped shut late afternoon sunlight. “Maker’s balls, it’s too bright out here…”

Cullen had the gall to chuckle. “I fear I must refuse, my lady.”

“Ugh… not a lady. Pu’me down.” Gwen flailed… her fingers. She would punch him later, or something. Put frozen nug poop in his tent maybe. The thought made her want to laugh, but laughter would hurt.

Worst migraine she’d had in ages. Then again, she hadn’t been taking her medications since she got yanked into this world. _Need to learn Thedosian techniques and medicines for migraine. Pretty sure they don’t stock topiramate and sumatriptan out here._

“Once you are safely ensconced in your bed and seen to by a healer, my lady, and no sooner. Until then, I remain a brute.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, obviously heading off to the Hinterlands soon, and Val Royeaux won't be long after that. You know what that means! More companions, which means *le gasp* possible shipping time! So, never too early to begin speculating (AMIRITE?!?) who might end up with whom, but it would be fun to see everyone's thoughts in the comments below on how Gwen might relate to the rest of the inner circle as she gathers them up.
> 
> Also any thoughts or questions y'all have about certain elements of Gwen's story (with the exception of spoilers, naturally) I'll be happy to answer.
> 
> Next up: The Hinterlands and precious Lace Harding.
> 
> P.S.A. I have personally suffered with migraine most of my life, and so when I depict Gwen the way I do at the end of this chapter, it comes from personal experience. I see a lot of writers using the term "migraine" interchangeably as a catch-all for severe, normal headaches or even a hangover headache, and not actual migraine. Migraine is seldom addressed as the actual debilitating condition it is for so many people. Anyhoo... I'll end srsface time with this: If you want to know more about migraine, if you suffer from them, or know someone who does, there are many resources on the intarwebz with information that will surprise you about them. :::::::::::::::::THE MOAR YOO NO SSSHHHPPRRRIIIINGGG::::::::::


	9. Are We There Yet? Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen gets a handle on magic, sort of, and the apostates talk magical shop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so this is one of several updates I'll be posting over a period of days because there was a lot to write. This chapter was giving me a rough time because nothing felt quite right (and all the characters kept flirting, and I needed to spray them with a firehose), but I feel better about it now. More to come.
> 
> I won't always promise fast updates, but I'll at least leave something in the notes if I think it's going to be a good long while. I'd rather give you something that I hope is better quality than just throw the first thing I think of out the door to try and keep up numbers. Not that I think that's a frequent occurrence, but I just impose strict standards on myself and yeah, I'll shut up now. :3
> 
> Not beta'd, as per usual.

Adan was the first to come see Gwen when summoned. The cantankerous apothecary handed her a vile smelling potion that tasted even worse, but it helped with the pain and nausea. He wouldn’t tell her what it was actually for, but he said he’d seen folk with head pains like hers before, and this tonic usually got them back up for a while. He was even nice enough to bring a frost rune wrapped in a cloth in case she needed it later. Gwen thanked him, and he grunted something like, “Fixin’ the world’ll be thanks enough,” and left.

_NO PRESSURE._

Gwen got up, a little woozy, and wanting something to get rid of the taste of that potion. She tugged her cowl back up, grabbed her staff and headed back out, running face first into a wall of Cullen.

“Ow…” Gwen now knew from personal experience that a breastplate to the face was uncomfortable, to say the least, and Templars, even former ones, smelled criminally good.

“Oh! My lady Herald! Are you quite alright?” Cullen reached for her, but she backed up against the door.

“I’m fine, Commander. Truly. Adan’s potion set me to rights for the time being. Was there something you needed?” Gwen rubbed her nose a little, squinting up at him.

“I wanted to ask if you’re able to ride. Horseback. Horseback riding, that is. If not, then I have someone who can give you some training before you leave for the Hinterlands.”

“I’ll admit, Commander, I’ve not ridden a horse since I was a little girl.”

_As to riding other things, like bicycles, or rollercoasters… >.> Shuddap!_

“You’ll more than make up for lost time shortly, I’m afraid.” He chuckled. “I’ll send Ansburg to work with you in the morning, as I unfortunately have more to do in the war room.”

“Thank you, Commander. If anyone requires anything else of me today, I’ll be exploring north of the camp around the lake.”

Cullen nodded, turning half-way round before he said, “I’m glad you’re well, my lady.” Then he strode toward the Chantry with purpose, and Gwen ignored the obnoxious flutter in her chest.

Gwen strapped her staff to her back and strolled through the main gates. Her goal was to try out some of her magic where it wouldn’t bother anyone. She wove her way through the tent city, steering clear of areas that smelled strongly of lyrium. There weren’t many mages in camp _(yet)_ so she knew those areas held Templars. Cullen had the same rather distracting scent too, but not as nearly as strong as those who still actively took lyrium. Before it went any further, she called a cease and desist on her line of thought regarding Cullen and how delicious he smelled.

 _SLIPPERY SLOPE IS SLIPPERY_.

After picking a wealth of elfroot and tucking it into her pack, Gwen wandered up to old Master Taigen’s abandoned cabin. She pushed the door open, letting a sliver of light into the dark interior. There had to be a sconce or a candle somewhere in there. Then she saw a half-burned candle stick in a holder cover in wax on the floor. She had nothing to physically light the candle so this seemed as good a place as any to test a little of her magic.

This was the first time she’d been left alone in days, and she felt like she could stop, think, and chew on theories she’d been thinking of concerning the various schools of magic she had knowledge of from the games and wondered how much of that would translate here. Most physics seemed to be the same. She knew the Fade had strange physics, but it was supposed to defy natural laws as it was a massive collective magical construct. That was how she saw it, anyway.

She tapped her foot as she ruminated about the forms of energy work she’d practiced at home like reiki, and other related “new age hippie shit” as an ex called it. Each chakra, according to various sources she’d read, had a corresponding element, though on through her personal experiences with meditation, she disagreed with the root chakra being related to earth because it didn’t feel that way to her. Traditional Chinese Medicine had the color of the first chakra and the general area of the body as related to fire. That made sense to her. She really wanted to write all this down, but she just needed to test her theory.

Gwen brought her hands together as if in prayer, touching her thumbs to her sternum, eyes drifting closed as she inhaled deeply, murmuring the words she always did to get her head in the right place for energy work. A familiar heat began to build at her palms, and she let the energy wash over her. There, her mind’s eye spied a coil of burning thread with a loose strand and followed the strand to its source: A pool of deep crimson, with flames licking its oily surface. She dipped spectral hands into the pool and when she pulled them out, they were coated in fire, but it didn’t burn her. She opened her eyes slowly, and her hands were still covered in flames.

_I should be freaking out. Why am I not freaking out?_

_ Because we showed you how to do this in the Fade, you ninny. _

Some knowledge returned at the speed of frozen molasses, and with that she raised one single flaming digit in the air in honor of Anders.

_ I’m hurt… _

_You’re dead. Now go away. I’m not supposed to be chatting with you. This is MY inner monologue. People will begin to think I’m, well…_

_ Fine, but you should consider getting a kitten. Just a suggestion.  _

_Anders, I love you, but bugger off. I’m working here._

Gwen could see more of the cabin with just her hands, but doused the right hand. Picking up flammable items with a fiery hand was likely a poor idea. She stepped over to the table with the old healer’s indecipherable notes on it and along with a questionable looking wheel of cheese. She picked up all the parchment on the table, tucking it into her bag.

Then a large pink bald rabbit-rat-pig thing pounced out of the shadows onto the cheese and squeaked at her.

Gwen yelped and staggered backward several feet, as she flung her left arm outward, and fire hurtled through the air, colliding with the creepy critter.

“SKREEEEEK!”

_POP! SKWILCH!_

It was all over in one fatal explosive blow.

Gwen grimaced as she stared in horror at the charred remains and melted cheese dripping onto the floor. There were bits still on fire, slowly flickering going out on their own.

_Oh my god, was that a nug? Those things are creepy as FUCK!_

She pinched her nose, assailed by an abysmal feeling of draining guilt. She took one last look at her handiwork, and fled the cabin, going deeper into the woods. Logical Gwen realized she was going to have to get a feel for her mana pool, _or whatever_. She would also need to find faster ways to cast if ( _when_ ) she had to do battle. Of course, doing battle meant other creatures and people, would die at her hands if they didn’t kill her first, and if she died, then even more people would die. Pacifist Gwen was going to die a long, slow, painful death in Thedas.

_Gwen Harwood: Herald of Andraste, and murderer of innocent nugs…_

She walked until she found a snow-covered fishing dock on the lake. She laid her staff down and sat letting her feet dangle over the edge, watching the people of Haven toiling away in the distance. There was Cassandra whaling on a straw dummies, or what was left of one, and Cullen’s voice rang out clearly over the ice, having returned to barking at his recruits, most likely wearing his “too serious” expression. The stone bridge on the south side of the lake had Chantry folk and a few others milling about with all sorts of people coming and going from the camp in wagons, on horses, pushing barrows full of rubble, and less savory things. But right here, in this spot, she had found a little peace and quiet. Sort of.

She stayed there a long while, testing her magic on shrubbery, alternating between fire and ice. She burned and froze the same stalk of elfroot until it crumbled. Barriers seemed to come more easily to her when she tried. Probably because of the intent, she reasoned. She was more of a protector than a fighter, but she would have to become both here.

The lights of the camp began to glow as the sky darkened, and Gwen considered heading back to camp, but she wasn’t ready yet. She shouldn’t be out alone either with night coming, but technically she wasn’t. She had bleating goats and mooing druffalo for company, and the odd nug scurried by, too. Gwen would later recommend an interesting wager to Varric regarding nugs racing on the surface of the frozen lake, because she also discovered that nothing was funnier than nugs on ice. It was better than dogs on linoleum with a laser pointer.

Gwen hummed to herself, songs from home. Songs, she thought with a twinge of sadness that she would probably never hear again outside her head. The music helped, actually. Magic had a rhythm to it, a pulse, and she was beginning to feel that pulse now. Still, she snapped her fingers in time while visualizing flame springing from her fingertips, then switched her focus to lighting a stalk of elfroot like a candle without flinging fire from her hand.

She’d just finished with a stirring rendition (albeit muted so people wouldn’t hear her singing across the lake, because wow that would be embarrassing) of “Don’t Stop Believin’” when the voice of a familiar apostate called out for her.

“Gwen?”

With one loud snap of her fingers, a ball of flame burst from her fingers up into the air like a tiny flare.

The wooden planks of the dock creaked ever so slightly under the elf’s feet. “Ah, there you are.”

“Hello.” Gwen doused the tip of another stalk of elfroot with a burst of ice.

“It would seem you are recovered. I’m pleased to see you are well. I wanted to check on you earlier, but it seemed you were busy or being guarded by the Commander for the better part of the day, and only he knew of your plan to venture this way.” Solas said, sitting beside her.

“I did tell him where I was going in case anyone needed me for some reason. It was nice to have some time to myself to think.”

“I apologize for disturbing your solitude, when I cherish it myself. I did desire, however, to see with my own eyes that you were recovered, and as it had grown dark, I wanted to see you were safe, and I see that you are.”

“That depends on one’s definition of safety, but if that means only that I am not in imminent danger of death or attack, then yes, it would appear I am safe. Nugs and elfroot are in more peril right now.” Gwen demonstrated on some elfroot that swiftly turned into a pile of ash.

“Exercising your magic, I see. I passed a cabin earlier where I felt a different magical signature than I’m used to. Considering there are few mages in the camp right now, and only two of any talent that I’m aware of, one being myself, I thus deduced it must have been yours.”

_Welcome back, Ser Smug._

“Are you sure it was magic, or burnt nug _a la fromage_?”

Solas chuckled. “I did notice something bearing that description, but that was certainly not the source of the magic I felt.”

“It may have come from my meditation prior to, erm, casting anything.”

“Your meditation? A different technique perhaps. Will you show me?”

“If you like, though it’s doubtful you’ll find it any more exciting than watching me sleep.”

“Ah, but we can travel the Fade when we sleep, so it may be more interesting than you might think.”

“As you wish.” She shrugged.

Solas nodded, watching closely as Gwen closed her eyes, drawing her focus inward. She let her mind go quiet and opened herself up to the universe. Every exhalation rid her of doubt and stress. Each heartbeat was a syllable of a mantra, and soon a familiar heat curled around her, seeping into every particle of her being.

Time meant nothing to Gwen and she could have been in this stasis for hours before Solas spoke, his voice gently caressing her consciousness. “Your aura is cloaked in violet fire. Similar in nature to the spectrum of necromancy, but it feels entirely different. There is spirit there, I can sense it, yet I feel no trace of the Fade. You somehow bypass the Veil entirely.”

Gwen opened her eyes, dazed from her meditation. She looked at her hands, seeing the aura Solas spoke of, and she could see his just as clearly. It was brighter than she expected, with a lot of reds, and a whorl of gold and silver, and deep bright green, among others, but those stood out the most. She marveled at it. In glow that surrounded them, she noticed the snow around her on the pier had melted.

_Well, that’s new. It must be something in the water…_

“You may know more of such things than I.” Gwen felt detached as she spoke.

Solas had an almost childlike expression on his face. “How do you maintain the field for so long without exhausting your mana?”

She considered how to answer him for a moment. “I act as a conduit until I sense my work is complete. I channel, I don’t pull. It’s a mutually beneficial agreement, of sorts.”

“So this is a form of spirit healing?”

“I’m not sure about that. I don’t think it’s anywhere near as effective, at least it wasn’t in my native land.”

“Your native land must be a strange and fascinating place. I know of no place like that on Thedas. Will you tell me of your homeland?”

_Tell me about the waters of your homeworld, Muad’Dib. Geez…_

“It is growing late, Master Solas, and I don’t want people to think the apostates have fled.”

“You are correct, of course. I am sorry. Finding new things gives me joy, and I can sometimes be… overenthusiastic.”

“I understand. If you like, I’ll give you a quick demonstration of my…healing, then we can walk back. It won’t take long. Just remain seated, and close your eyes.” Gwen got to her feet and rubbed her hands together.

Solas closed his eyes with a smile. “Thank you, Gwen.”

_Ha! Curious Hobogod is kind of adorable in a way, but I can’t trust you. Not with who I really am. Pfft, I’m like Gwen-Harel now? Ugh._

Gwen stood behind Solas, breathing deeply holding her hands high over his head, as she had many times for others, but never for anyone like him. Energy work like this was like turning a water faucet on: The energy flowed like warm water until she turned it off. As soon as she started, however, she felt his lack of balance and her urge to repair what she found was strong. He had too many wounds, some old and deep, some still seeping as if they were fresh, and others festered. His fear and sorrow, anger and pride, all seemed to war with each other constantly, and all of it was bound tightly by guilt and duty. Unraveling his energetic and emotional knots would take at least an age. If she took any of _that_ into herself, she probably wouldn’t feel like moving again. Ever. The Dread Wolf had been caged inside himself too long. She let her hands fall away and brushed away the excess, the brightness of their auras fading in her vision.

Solas whispered, “That was…”

“How do you feel?”

“Your hands, they were everywhere, but not in an invasive way. I felt their warmth. And I feel… lighter. How did you…?”

“I never actually touched you, Solas.”

“You must have formidable will to accomplish this.” He stood up beside Gwen, handing her staff to her. They held their glowing staves like walking sticks as they turned back toward Haven.

“It wasn’t so difficult to learn. As to formidable will, show me a frilly cake and I’ll show you how very easily my will can be bent.”

“You think channeling energy in such a way to be a small feat?”

“It is what it is. I only channel as much as is needed. It also requires less concentration than summoning a tiny ball of flame, for example. For me, at least.”

“I hope to ask you more about your magic if and when you are willing. I am curious to learn more.”

“If you don’t mind me asking you about yours.”

“I’m happy to share, especially with one such as yourself.”

“You study the Fade. A dreamer, of sorts. I find that quite interesting. You must have seen many fascinating things there.”

“Indeed, I have. I’ve explored ancient battlefields, long lost civilizations, and much more. I’ve even befriended spirits.”

_Smug-face reengaged._

“Spirits _are_ quite amazing.”

“I—agree, they are. Few see them as intelligent beings, but somehow I think you are different.”

“Not all forms of life can be confined to our limited perception of what it may or may not be, on this plane or any other.”

Gwen thought about tiny creatures like tardigrades ( _NOOT NOOT_ ) and other things that science had barely perceived back home and smiled. The multiverse, as she tried to think of it, was an amazing place, and there was so much that was unknown. What she wouldn’t give to watch an episode of Cosmos right now…

_Nerd…_

“You have a most unique and refreshing perspective of the world, Gwen.”

“Or perhaps I’m just mad.” She made a silly face and chuckled.

They walked past the cabin and Gwen felt a momentary twinge of guilt, saying a mental Lord’s Prayer for the…nug fondue.

Solas smiled down at her. “You have shown more wisdom and clarity of thought within the last few minutes than I have seen many display over years of time. If that is madness, then I welcome it with open arms.”

“Meditation does that to me.” She kept her eyes forward.

“I suspect that you often hide behind a veneer of being lesser than you are because you think others will fear seeing what you are truly capable of.”

_Them’s fightin’ woids! So hey, Fenfen, I think you could be a little more direct and personal, bro. Why are you getting all up in my facial?! I’m not asking you any personal questions, bub! What gives? I feel like I’m a fucking NPC…_

“And if I do? What of it?”

“I find your adaptability and cunning intriguing.”

_That makes me sound so shady…Knifey-shivdark…_

“Perhaps you should leave evasions to rogues.”

“Perhaps I am more of a rogue than you think, and set upon stealing something of great value.”

“So you’ve gone from apostate to thievery? What shall you steal then, Ser Thief? Varric’s crossbow? The Commander’s furry coat? The Orlesian Empire?” Gwen chuckled and glanced up, seeing the smirk on his face which looked far more sinister in the torchlight along Haven’s walls.

Solas stepped in front of her, walking backward for a moment. “As a proper thief, I fear I cannot divulge my plans.” He laid a hand over his heart and tried to appear apologetic, but the twinkle in his eyes gave him away.

“Then Ser Thief, I should seek a pallet before they all disappear for the evening, if they haven’t already.”

Solas turned around, walking a little ahead of her. “The cabin you woke in is yours to use, Gwen.”

“I don’t see it that way, Solas. I didn’t earn it.” She climbed the steps behind the main gates wearily after him.

Solas paused on the top step, looking back at Gwen. “You were so near death when we brought you back, you more than earned it. I’ve a cabin to myself as well, though I have spent more time in yours, thus far.”

Gwen nodded, stifling a yawn. Seven days of sleep and she was tired after partial day awake. “Because you were generous enough to take over as my healer. I haven’t thanked you yet for watching over me, by the way. So, thank you for taking my care into your hands.”

“Adan is no healer, though not completely useless. But it had to be me. Anyone else would have gotten things wrong.”

_That sounds oddly familiar…_

“Well, again, I thank you, and I enjoyed our talk, Solas. You’ll be joining us on the trip to the Hinterlands, yes?”

“I wouldn’t miss it, Herald of Andraste.” He smirked, bowing at the waist.

“Oh, not you too.” Gwen rolled her eyes.

“Ha! Do you not see the appeal in being the Chosen of Andraste, blessed hero sent to save us all?” Mischief danced in his eyes.

“That depends on the terms of acceptance.” She shrugged, tapping her chin.

“Oh? What would your terms be?”

“I shall only agree to bear the title if I may come swooping in on the back of a mighty griffon. Though I’ve heard somewhere that swooping is bad.” She winked and gave him a cheeky grin.

_I HAD TO! DON’T JUDGE ME, SELF! ALIBEAR4LYFE… God I hope he’s not the fucking Warden… I will lose my shit._

Solas laughed out of sheer surprise. “I would have chosen a griffon as well! It is a pity they’re extinct.”

“Not in our dreams, Solas.”

“Indeed. Almost anything is possible in the Fade.”

“Goodnight, Ser Thief.” She laughed softly as she opened the door to her cabin.

"Sleep well, Gwen," he said as the door closed

Gwen released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

She undressed and fell asleep as soon as her head touched the pillows, and the Fade opened up before her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Points to anyone who spotted the ME3 ref or others I tossed in (because I can't help it sometimes, I really can't.)
> 
> A big thanks to commenters, subscribers, kudo-givers, and all readers in general for the love you've been sending my way. I hope I can continue to entertain y'all.
> 
> If anyone has questions regarding Gwen's specific type of energy work in this chapter, referenced in at least one earlier chapter as Reiki, feel free to shoot me questions about it on tumblr.
> 
> Another point: the potion Adan gave Gwen at the beginning was just a stop-gap, not a cure. There are plotty things revolving around that area that are not going to be revealed for a bit.


	10. Are We There Yet? Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen gets schooled... in the equestrian arts, flirts with death by shank a la Leliana, Josephine likes to run a tight ship, Orlesian Charlie Brown stops in to whinge, there's a war council meeting, and Gwen wants to leave for the Hinterlands at dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this update is my lengthiest to date, I think. I didn't see a need to split it and didn't want to. I'm pretty anxious to get the gang to the Hinterlands, so this is the last of Haven for a while. O.O So, I apologize for the length, sorta.
> 
> Not beta'd, so mistakes yada yada.

The next day started before dawn for Gwen. A noise stirred her from sleep, the source of which, it turned out, was Rosalee lighting the hearth and setting out a modest breakfast of hot gruel ( _YUMMO_ ), some tea, and a hard-boiled egg.

"Good morning, m'lady. I've your breakfast for you."

“Did you get anything for yourself?” Gwen sat up in bed, yawned, and rubbed her bleary eyes.

“No, m’lady, of course not. I won’t eat until after my morning chores are finished.”

Gwen frowned and wondered how servants of other races were treated versus elves. “I think that needs to change.” Then she made a face and stuck her tongue out still tasting the potion from yesterday. “I need to get this taste out of my mouth. I hope no one ever lets Adan near the kitchens.”

Rosalee froze, gawking at Gwen.

“Uh, Rosalee? Are you alright? Have I grown horns or something?”

“Ah, no! M’lady, I’m sorry. I just… Your tongue. Did someone do that to you because you’re a mage?”

“My tongue?” Gwen remembered her damn barbell, slapping herself mentally. “Oh, yes, that. Where I come from, erm, staves aren’t in popular use for mages. This bar in my tongue is just a… different method of focusing magic. And it made it easier to, erm, travel, as a healer.”

_Holy fuck, Gwen! That was a whopper with cheese, and you don’t even like BK! Except those lil onion rings. Those are kinda tasty. Hell on the tummy, but yummy. Eheh…mmm…_

“Ah! I see. Is it painful, m’lady?”

“No. It healed long ago. I forget it’s there much of the time.”

“What of the mark behind your ear? Master Solas was curious about it.”

_Crap. Of course I forget my fuckin’ one little bit of ink and the damn elf god notices it._

“That isn’t magical. It’s just a symbol in my land of my belief in the Maker and maintaining balance.”

"Is your land very far, m'lady?"

“Yes, it is. Now, may I ask you a question, Rosalee?” _EVADE_ The girl nodded, and Gwen continued. “Where do you sleep?”

“I share a tent with a few other elves, m’lady.”

Gwen found that unacceptable. “How many?”

“There's six, including me. Seggritt lets us to borrow the tent for a small sum at the end of each week.”

_I’m gonna deck that greedy bigot. I will load him up in a fucking trebuchet and launch his dumb ass at Corypheus. Just not today.  
_

“Well, I have a favor to ask, Rosalee, but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I’m not used to living by myself in a strange place, and it would be a comfort to have someone I feel safe with nearby. Would you consider bringing your pallet in here and sharing the cabin with me?” It was a start, anyway. She’d try to find subtle ways to give the other elves a hand without trying to make it look too much like charity. She doubted they would appreciate that any more than she would.

Rosalee nodded solemnly. “I would be honored to, m’lady.”

“Excellent. So next time you bring a meal, bring enough for yourself too. Can’t have my safeguard running around on an empty stomach. If they give you trouble, just tell them to talk to me, and I’ll handle it.” Hell, Gwen already looked like she ate five times as much as Rosalee brought her this morning, so it shouldn’t be an issue.

Rosalee nodded and smiled. “As you say, m’lady.”

“Good. I need to clean my teeth, and other things. Do we have an empty bucket?”

“I’ve filled a ewer with water for your morning ablutions already, m’lady, and the chamber pot is empty. Lady Montilyet gave me your schedule for this morning and asked me to go over it with you.”

Gwen didn’t know what was more surreal at the moment. Having someone serving her, which felt wrong, or the fact that said servant was going over a morning schedule with her like it was an episode of “Downton Abbey: Mediaeval.”

“Erm, alright. Let’s hear it.” Gwen ate her egg, and started sipping tea and gruel as she listened to Rosalee rattle off her plans for the morning.

“Five bells: Breakfast, etc. Six bells: Horseback Lesson with Messere Ansburg. Eight bells: Time allotted for hot bath. Nine bells: Meeting with Sister Leliana. Half past nine: Meeting with Ambassador Montilyet. Ten bells: Meet with War Council. Midday: Luncheon with Ser Griffith of Denerim. That’s all there is, m’lady.”

Gwen blinked. “Our ambassador is very organized, it seems. I do need to ask her about acquiring some parchment. I wonder if I’ll have some time in between to get those notes I picked up yesterday to Adan?”

“I can take them for you, m’lady.”

“You already have enough to do. I can drop them off after the War Council on my way to meet Ser Griffith.”

Rosalee nodded. “Very good, m’lady. I’ll see you again at eight bells.”

After Gwen finished eating, she used some teeth-cleaning gunk Rosalee brought her with a little rag: It was like thick paste that tasted like spiced wine and mint with hint of citrus. There was also wine to rinse it out with, and even some floss. They weren’t total barbarians, though Gwen doubted these items were from Ferelden.

Then there was the chamber pot. Gwen looked at it, and as much as she had to go, she hesitated. Using the garderobe in the Chantry had been weird enough. No toilet paper. Just piles of “clean” straw. She doubted she’d be able to hold it for her entire riding lesson though. Camping in the wilderness would bring her even more joy!

Gwen just reminded herself she had a bath to look forward, especially since she had that not so fresh feeling. Granted, she’d noticed most people around the camp had some kind of body odor and for the most part it didn’t bother her. It was natural.

Gwen faced worse smells ( _and “I can’t un-see that” sights_ ) doing massage therapy, and regular body odor was the least worrisome. Once, a regular client purchased a two hour massage session with Gwen as a gift for their mother’s birthday. The mother was so uptight she’d left her pantyhose on. Gwen overlooked it, got into her zen flow and the woman relaxed enough to fall asleep. She’d been working around the woman’s low back when _it_ happened. 

_BRAAAPPPPPHHHHTTT!_

Needless to say, the lady startled herself awake, and Gwen had bite her lip to stop herself from laughing her ass off. Gwen didn’t utter a word, not even when the smell hit. One learns tricks to cope when stuck in a room with a person and their particular odors for a designated amount of time with no escape.

Gwen found a pair of fingerless leather gloves on the desk and the realized that Rosalee must’ve brought them for her. She tugged them on after she got dressed, about to head out the door when someone knocked.

Gwen opened the door and peeked out. A tall young man with a bright smile, kind eyes, and smooth brown skin bowed and introduced himself. “Good morning, my lady. Commander Cullen sent me. I’m Ansburg, and I am to see to it that you’re able to sit a horse properly for your journey to the Hinterlands.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ansburg, and thank you. I’ll do my best with the time we have.”

“If you’re ready then, my lady, I have a mount ready for you. She’s a docile and sweet mare, perfect for easing back into riding.” He offered his arm and Gwen took it as she pulled the door closed behind her.

Ansburg and the mare, one Ms. Pickles, were very patient with Gwen. The lad showed Gwen how to approach a horse without spooking it, how to handle the tack, and brush her down. The worst part was dismounting after the lesson because of the tension in Gwen’s low back and her “jelly legs”. She was really _~~not~~_ looking forward to several full days of riding on horseback, but she was fortunate that she knew good stretches that would provide some relief. Approximately two hours later, Gwen was doing everything in her power not to hobble back to her cabin.

_My body hates me and the feeling is currently mutual. Suck it up, Gwen. This is what you get for being lazy._

“Maker go with you, Herald of Andraste,” a young scout said as she saluted Gwen.

Gwen smiled and nodded, feeling sick to her stomach every time she heard that, and other similar comments, and she hadn’t been the Herald that long. “And with you.” When Gwen turned away, she was scowling, and the muscles in her back contracted painfully.

She entered her cabin and Rosalee was inside with a big, wooden tub sitting near hearth. Gwen’s scowl melted away.

“Your bath is ready, m’lady.”

“Maker bless you and all your kin, Rosalee.”

“I’m happy to serve, m’lady. I also brought a basket with a note from Lady Montilyet. Smells like some fancy Orlesian soap!” Rosalee handed the note to Gwen with a grin.

Gwen read the note, thankful that Josephine had such neat handwriting:

_Mistress Harwood,_

_Now that you are part of the Inquisition, and indeed will be working to help us build our reputation, appearances are of the utmost importance._

_Cleanliness goes a long way to helping me remain level-headed in this cold wilderness. Haven does not have the most pleasant accommodations, but still, I would see you comfortable, and I am sure this will be of help to you in that regard._

_Warmest regards,_

_Lady Josephine Montilyet_

 

Gwen smiled and folded the note,then rifled through the basket, smelling the soaps, sachets, perfumed powders. There was also a variety pretty hairpins, a fine toothed comb, a nicer hairbrush than the one that was in the cabin already. But there were some items that gave Gwen pause, and she was hard put not to laugh when she realized what they were: Old school cloth “maxi-pads” for fine ladies. A lot of them. Plus, a special little rag bag for them.

_Oh my god… I can almost understand the desire to be eternally pregnant to not have to wash my literal rags. My respect for laundry folk of yore, or in my case, right now, is shooting up like ten-thousand fold._

She lifted up one item that looked like a really fat tampon with extra-long string and almost choked.

_That does not look like my idea of comfort… Oh Maker, where is the comfort? If I believed in Hell, I’d be going straight there._

“Lady Montilyet sent some very nice things indeed, m’lady. This soap has lavender, dawn lotus, elfroot, and embrium. Highest quality, and good for cuts and bruises.”

Gwen nodded, inhaling the aroma, focusing on the items least likely to make her laugh or cry. “It certainly smells lovely.”

“Will you need help washing your hair, m’lady? I don’t think we have any hair poultices like you described, but perhaps you will find the ingredients you need on your journey?”

“Oh, yes, hair poultices. I will have to search for what I need…”

Gwen really needed to wash her hair, but she was not accustomed to people helping her bathe. She used to shave just for a visit to the ObGyn, and you know, those other occasions when a girl shaved everything. After her last failed relationship, Gwen decided to rebel and focus on things she really gave a shit about and hadn’t shaved since. When Gwen went to her last ObGyn appointment, she apologized preemptively for her poor impression of a balding Wookie, and the doctor chuckled told her not to worry about it.

In this case, it wasn’t anything Rosalee hadn’t already seen. Then Gwen had a thought, and cursed her brain.

_Commander Cullen might have seen said body hair yesterday… WHO CARES!? He should be used to seeing hairy women. Not that he’ll be seeing any of my other hair again, but still. It’s just hair. ~Hair, flow it, show it~ ~Long as God can grow my hair~_

“M’lady?”

“Oh, sorry. Erm, alright, if you don’t mind helping, that would be nice.”

A little while later, Rosalee was putting the finishing touches on the fancy braid she wove in Gwen’s hair when the Chantry bells rang nine. “I’ll help you with that tub after my meetings, Rosalee.” The bath had been perfect for relaxing her muscles and relieving her of her stench. She would revel in her cleanliness as long as she could, making a note to herself to thank Josephine when she met with her.

“No need, m’lady. It will be taken care of before you return. Part of my duties.” Rosalee said proudly.

“What will your duties be while I’m away from Haven?”

“I’ll probably go back to running things for Seggritt or whoever else has need of a runner, m’lady.”

“I see. I should go see Sister Leliana.” Gwen would have to see about that.

“Don’t forget the notes for Adan, m’lady. I know you wanted to give them to him yourself.” Rosalee held Gwen’s pack up for her.

Bless the sweet elven girl, she was like a personal assistant. When did Gwen need a personal assistant? Since she came to Thedas, apparently.

Gwen gave her a quick hug and smiled. “Thanks, Rosalee. You’re the best, you know that? Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Rosalee blushed and looked down, shuffling her feet. “M’lady will be late.”

“Don’t forget to move your pallet in here, Rosalee!” Gwen said as she left and pulled her cowl over her damp hair, her heavy braid draped over her left shoulder. When she arrived at Leliana’s tent, the spymaster was conversing with one of her scouts.

_Uh oh, can’t have StabbityDeathFace Lels, no no._

“So Butler’s turned, then. I hoped I was wrong, but this... This is disappointing. He killed one of my best agents, and must have hoped his involvement would go unnoticed. I can’t let this stand. Not when he knows where the others are, too. You understand what needs to be done: Keep it quick, clean, and quiet…”

Gwen cleared her throat. “Are you sure you want to take things to that extreme?”

Leliana’s head whipped toward Gwen, chin rising as she stared down her thin nose at her. “Do you presume to tell me how to do my job after less than one full day of being part of this movement? The man betrayed us and endangered my agents! I what must be done, and the Inquisition can’t afford to have its seneschal compromised by lofty ideals.”

“If we don’t draw the line somewhere, then we are no different than people like Butler, or whoever got him to turn. He must have a reason, so find out what it is and if he has any loyalty to his employer. Get him to talk. He’s a resource, so use him. Just find another way.”

Leliana’s nostrils flared as she turned her back to Gwen, fists clenched. The spymaster huffed. “Since the Herald of Andraste feels so strongly on this issue...” She looked at her scout and said grudgingly, “Apprehend Butler and make sure he’s still breathing when he’s returned to us.”

The scout nodded his assent to Leliana and scanned Gwen with wide eyes as he left to carry out his orders.

_I shall not fear thy shanking blades, for my mark doth protecteth me!_

“If that satisfies you, Herald, I have other work to see to before the war council.”

“So you had nothing to meet with me about? Lady Montilyet put it on my schedule.”

Leliana clicked her tongue and leaned against the table, then laughed and looked at Gwen. “Ah, Josie, always such a busybody. If she has nothing to do, she will make something for herself to do. If you ever find your smalls have been neatly rearranged by textile quality alphabetically, you’ll know who to blame.” She smiled.

“I’m tempted to ask, but I won’t. I’ll see you in the war room shortly.”

Gwen barely took a step when Leliana said, “You were right. I should know better. With Butler I mean. I hate that he endangered people, our people… but he may have valuable information that could help us more than his death.” Leliana turned around and shuffled through reports.

Gwen smiled and didn’t reply, making straight for Josephine’s office in the Chantry. A heated argument echoed over the voices of the Chantry brothers and sisters muttering their favorite canticles. Gwen opened the door to Josephine’s office, finding the ambassador embroiled in a debate with a bald man in a hideous excuse for an outfit (in both color and style,) and a mask to ostensibly hide his shame for his taste in fashion, or lack thereof.

_Oh, right. This guy. The Orlesian Charlie Brown._

Josephine pulled Gwen by the arm and practically shoved her in front of the man.“Ah! Marquis, allow me to introduce you the courageous woman who risked her life to slow the magic of the Breach. Mistress Harwood, may I present the Marquis DuRellion, one of Divine Justinia’s most avid supporters.”

Gwen would’ve tried to curtsy, but her thighs were still sore from her riding lesson. The Marquis didn’t give her a chance to even nod her head in acknowledgement anyway before bringing Gwen into the debate. “House DuRellion owns this land. Honored as we were to lend the use of Haven to the esteemed Divine Justinia, that agreement did not include any kind of… upstart order like this Inquisition. I cannot allow you to remain here."

_Ugh. Orlesians…_

“Pardonnez-moi, Marquis DuRellion, but the Inquisition was founded by the Right and Left Hand of the Divine on the Most Holy’s authority.”

“Yet I have seen no written records bearing proof of this claim, mademoiselle.”

Josephine tutted. “If the Marquis will not accept Seeker Penteghast’s word, she must challenge him to a duel.”

“What?!” DuRellion looked like he’d been slapped in the face with a haddock.

“It is a grave matter of honor among Nevarrans, Marquis. Shall I arrange the bout for this evening? I see an opening at five bells.” Josephine smiled sweetly, quill poised and ready on her slate.

Gwen, meanwhile, imagined the Seeker and DuRellion dueling with large fish, much like the classic Python sketch she loved.

_Oh, the fish slapping dance…_

DuRellion took a step backward, hands raised in surrender. “Ah! No! No, no, that won’t be necessary. I see now that I was too hasty in my view of the Inquisition’s presence here.”

Gwen watched Josephine as she went in for the diplomatic kill, smelling blood in the water. “In these dark times, your grace, Divine Justinia would be loath to see us divided by her passing. Being one of her most beloved supporters, you know she would trust you, and all of us to forge alliances to the benefit of everyone, regardless of how strange they may appear.”

“You have given me much to think on, and I will consider it very carefully, Lady Montilyet. The Inquisition may remain in the meanwhile.” DuRellion bowed to the both and left with his head held high.

_Niceness before knives indeed…_

“Expertly handled, Ambassador.”

“I do my best.”

“Shall we go to the war room?”

Josephine nodded and they walked to the war room. No one else had arrived for the council yet.

“I wanted to thank you for the gift you sent, Lady Montilyet. Very thoughtful and most definitely appreciated.”

Josephine smiled broadly. “It is my pleasure, and may I say, Mistress Harwood that you look lovely this morning?”

_Oh Josephine, please don’t use your diplomacy on me. I know lovely is not a thing I am._

Heat flooded Gwen’s cheeks. “Ah…hmm. Thank you. Rosalee did rather a nice job on my hair, but I can only see the end of it.”

Josephine covered her mouth and gasped. “Oh my goodness! Did I not place the looking glass or cosmetics in the basket? I am sorry. I will be back in a moment.”

The Ambassador breezed past Gwen muttering to herself in Antivan and returned a moment later, placing a small, lacquered box and a handheld looking glass into Gwen’s hands.

“Ah, now, that is better. If you are missing anything else, please let me know. I will endeavor to attain it for you.”

Gwen tucked the items in her pack without looking at them. She wasn’t much for looking in mirrors anymore and found she didn’t really miss seeing herself. She did remember she needed to ask Josephine for a few things, though.

“Actually, I would like to ask if I could have some sort of empty ledger or journal to make notes in, along with a quill and ink, and charcoal pencils, unless you know of something better for sketching and writing notes on the road, because quill and ink won’t do in the field. Better for maps too. And what else…”

Josephine was writing it all on her slate, nodding eagerly as Gwen went over her list.

“…And a sickle for herb gathering. Perhaps a small mortar and pestle. Maybe Adan has an extra one? I think that’s it. I’m terribly sorry, that’s for more than I should probably ask for.”

“If it means getting the work done more efficiently, then it will be well worth any trouble, Mistress Harwood, and this is all easy to acquire here already. I can have it to you by late afternoon.”

“Oh, good.”

The door of the war room opened with a clang and Cassandra, Leliana, and Cullen pushed in, already bickering. Josephine jumped into the fray with gusto.

Gwen stepped out of the way and leaned against the chamber door, listening, invisible.

After several long minutes of pointless arguments, however, Gwen’s patience wore thin, and she had to say something. “If I might make a few suggestions…?”

They all paused and looked at her.

“By all means, my lady Herald.” Commander Cullen nodded, curiosity piqued.

_You can do this. You know this. You’re good enough. You’re smart enough, and gosh darn it, people like you!_

Gwen walked up to the edge of the war table, trying not to think of it like public speaking, but it was. “Commander, I think your forces are best suited to deal with good Lord Kildarn’s issues by assisting the refugees who are so uncouth as to sully his lordship’s lands.” Cullen didn’t bother to conceal a smirk at that. “As for the Teryn of Highever’s letter, your solution seems best considering you are Fereldan, by your accent, yes? So I think you should take charge of that mission as well. You also organize the skilled workers and tradesmen, miners and the like, when it comes to certain tasks, I take it?”

“I do, yes.”

“Perhaps, as the troops travel, they can take stock of any metal ore the Inquisition needs for resources, and mark locations on maps for our workers to mine when an area is safe enough for them to enter, or if they have a sufficient guard? With more people coming here every day, this camp is going to be in desperate need of more supplies, and it will be less expensive to get our own than to purchase them from merchants for now, I believe.”

Cullen nodded. “I’ll see what can be done.”

“Mistress Leliana, I know your scouts have a great many talents. They can get in and out of areas with a minimum of fuss. My hope is, as we bring greater stability, that we can send forward scouts forward scouts to locate resources we need as well, logging sites, quarries, noting landmarks, rifts, and other things of note. This information will prove vital, I think. Copies of these maps for the Cullen’s men will be needed, and if I can get maps of regions I’m assigned to, I would be grateful.”

“Of course. I have a number of people in mind for tasks already.”

“Oh, and if you know a way to bring in herbalists, we will need them. Our forces will grow, we will need more herbs for salves, healing potions, and any number of other things. We need to be prepared for any eventuality, inasmuch as we can do so here at Haven.”

“Quite right. I know of some trainees who will work for just the experience alone.” Leliana almost looked impressed. Almost.

“Brilliant! Now then, Ambassador Montilyet, Serault may be known for the Shame, but it is also known for its glassworks, and earning the friendship of the Marquise may prove useful, if you feel up to the challenge. Perhaps you might also find a way to convince the Marquise or other willing nobles to lend aid to the Inquisition, if not with outright declarations, then perhaps small donations of coin? In time perhaps we’ll find merchants willing to give the Inquisition deals on goods and services if we shine brightly enough.”

Josephine was scribbling excitedly on her slate.

“Any objections or questions?”

“I cannot see a reason to object.”

“These are all very sound ideas and we should implement them.” Leliana nodded.

“I see no fault in this. Well said, Mistress Harwood.” Gwen could almost see the wheels turning in Josephine’s head.

“Maker be praised… Are we done here?” Cassandra groused.

Gwen gave Cassandra an apologetic look. “Not just yet. There’s an empty cabin just north of the bivouacked troops that could house several recruits, or be converted into another kitchen, a smokehouse, or something of use. It seems a waste to have a perfectly sound structure sitting empty so nearby while Haven grows more crowded. And Rosalee, the young girl who has been assisting with my care over the last several days will be staying in my cabin with me while I’m here, and I want her to remain residence while I’m away on missions for the Inquisition, if that is acceptable? Is she compensated for her services, Josephine?”

“If she is not, I will see to it that she is, Mistress Harwood.”

“With that, I would like to add just one last thing. I would like to set out for the Hinterlands by dawn. We need to move on the opportunities we have while we can.”

Leliana nodded. “Excellent. My scouts should be arriving near the Crossroads south of Redcliffe tomorrow and the forward camp prepared by the time you arrive.”

At twelve bells, the meeting concluded and Gwen was the last person out. She found Cullen lingering outside the war room.

“Commander.” She nodded, and he fell into step beside her.

“That was well done in there.”

“I saw one way of how things could be done and just hoped I could manage a verbal armistice at the war table. There is some irony there…”

“Well, I’m glad you spoke up. You looked rather bored guarding the door.”

“It was either that or bellow at you all like you’re toddlers, and I’m fairly certain that wouldn’t have worked in anyone’s favor, and it was the only comfortable position I could find after two hours with Ansburg.”

Cullen had a sudden coughing fit.

“Erm, are you alright, Commander? Do you need some water or something?”

His face was bright red, clearing his throat. “Er, um, no. I’m fine, thank you.”

They stepped out of the Chantry and Gwen looked up at Cullen. “Well, I have errands to run and a luncheon to attend with one Ser Griffith of Denerim, and I’ve no wish to keep you from your duties longer than necessary.”

“Of course. If you need anything, I’ll be training with my men. Speaking of training, I saw you riding this morning. Your mount and dismount need practice, but you have a good, natural seat.”

Gwen looked down, her eyes watering in her effort not to laugh. “I shall endeavor to improve in any areas in which I appear to be lacking, Commander.”

“If I notice any such thing, my lady, I will be diligent and report them as necessary.”

Gwen tugged her cowl down lower, irritated by yet another flutter in her chest.

_…Not worthy of reverence or affection._

Gwen steeled herself. “Oh, one more thing, Commander?”

“Yes, my lady?”

“Please call me Gwen. Or even Harwood. That would be preferable.”

“I will consider it, my lady Herald.” She could feel _that_ smirk in his voice.

_I should find ol’ nug fondue and leave him as a parting gift in your tent._

Gwen narrowed her eyes as she replied a little too sweetly, “Thank you, Commander.”

_Why does he have to be so… Errrgh! I AM STONE COLD! I’m friendly, but STONE COLD. I HAVE NO HEART! ~denydenydeny~_

He bowed and turned to go about his duties. Gwen gave him the two finger salute as he walked away, lowering her hand to tug at her sleeve when it seemed like he might turn back around, and she scampered off to see Apothecary Adan.

Gwen handed Taigen’s notes to a grouchy, but grateful Adan, who in turn gave her several concentrated jars of the potion for her migraine. A couple swipes on the tongue as needed could help in her in a pinch on the road. She wanted to hug him, but he didn’t seem like the type, so she just smiled and said thank you.

The luncheon with Ser Griffith wasn’t as dull as Josephine made it out to be. In fact, Gwen loved his gory tales, and even asked for further detail, which the man was more than happy to provide.

After that, she went to visit Harritt to thank him for the gear. She asked him about fixing her up with a brace of some kind for her wonky knee. He said he had just the thing and could have it done before day was over, along with an alteration on her leather overcoat, and a pair of protective leathers for her boots, all would be ready before sunset so she could depart at dawn on schedule. The blacksmith took some measurements, showed her a rough sketch on a slate of what her brace would look like and Gwen nodded. He asked to borrow her leather overcoat for the alteration and said a runner would be by her cabin with all of it tonight, “…Or my name ain’t Harritt.”

Gwen thanked Harritt and all the men working at the forge for their generosity, and chatted all of them for a few minutes, then let them get back to work.

Gwen also visited the outdoor latrine/privy for the first time, and regret did not begin to describe what she felt afterward, but she was thankful it was cold in the Frostbacks.

She went to her spot by the pier again and practiced more with her magic, using her staff more this time. Why couldn’t they use wands or something smaller? Was it a compensation thing?

_We don’t have something big, metal and sharp, but we have this pointed stick!_

She’d have to have some discussions when Dagna came along about designing some more mage friendly weaponry. Gwen didn’t see the need for the size if the magic was being given proper focus, and she wasn’t going to start any fancy staff theatrics anytime soon.

_Dual-wielding wands! Yeah! Or maybe not, but maybe it would work._

That evening, Gwen enjoyed supper with Rosalee, Varric, Solas, and Cassandra. Harritt came through with his promise when a runner from the forge came with her overcoat, leather greaves, and the modified knee-brace halfway through their meal, and she sent the runner back with her thanks. Moments later another runner interrupted them with the promised delivery from Josephine which included an apology for the delay.

With the journey starting so early, and the delays, the meal was short, but pleasant. It went unspoken that everyone needed to get some decent sleep tonight because who knew when they would get another chance for it? Gwen also had to pack what few things she had to bring that Josephine hadn’t provided in the large travel pack she had delivered, along with the other things Gwen had asked for.

Rosalee had fallen sound asleep on her pallet near the dimming flames of the hearth by the time Gwen finished packing and slipped under the covers of her bed. She stared up at the shadows dancing on the ceiling, stomach coiled in nervous knots as it always did before leaving on any kind of trip. In just a few hours, they would depart for the Hinterlands. Gwen was excited… and scared shitless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming soon: A little bit of the trip to the Hinterlands aka CAMPING IS FUN #lolno and Scout Harding INCOMING! She's so frickin' adorable.
> 
> And if you have never seen the Fish Slapping Dance from Monty Python's Flying Circus: https://youtu.be/lefP0_ZM-Lw So you have an even better idea of what that duel would've looked like.


	11. Things Go South

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey to the Hinterlands begins, the group meets Lace Harding, and shit hits the fan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took longer than I meant to writing this entry, but I hope it's worth it for y'all.
> 
> Not beta'd.

Gwen tossed and turned, and finally seemed to drift off only to be awakened by Rosalee seconds later (or so it felt.) The elf left the cabin while Gwen sluggishly washed up, and even used the void-taken chamber pot. She was mostly dressed, finished up by strapping the new brace on her left knee when there was a knock on the door. “Come in.”

“Just me, m’lady. Brought you some food for the road. A boiled egg, hard cheese, and some black bread. Even got Cook to give me a skin of watered down wine for you.”

“Did you get something for yourself too, Rosalee?”

“Aye, Cook gave me an egg and gruel, m’lady.”

“Good. Can’t have what few friends I have here perishing of starvation or worse.” Gwen tried not to dwell on the thought of friends, which made her think of home, which was far from comforting.

Rosalee smiled shyly and handed Gwen her bags and staff.

“I better go before Seeker Pentaghast comes and beats down the door.” She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

“Maker be with you, m’lady.”

“See you soon, Rosalee.”

_She better be okay by the time I get back. If I get back. I will get back. I have to..._

Gwen sniffled, waving to Rosalee as she walked out the main gates, her staff lighting the way. Cassandra was speaking quietly with Cullen and Leliana by the mounts as she saddled her impressive looking mount. Solas and Varric weren’t far behind Gwen.

Ansburg was there as well, far too chipper for the hour, but Gwen was the twit that chose when to leave.

_It seemed like a good idea at the time…_

“I wanted to introduce you to your mount for the journey, since Ms. Pickles is a little long in the tooth for that.” He led Gwen over to dappled grey mare.

“What’s her name?”

“This is ‘Snowlight’. She’s a beauty and she knows it. Don’t you, girl?” Ansburg slipped Snowlight a carrot and Snowlight nickered at him.

“Well, Snowlight, it is nice to meet you.” Gwen stroked Snowlight’s muzzle gently. Ansburg and Gwen got Snowlight saddled and ready, then Ansburg went to help Varric with his speckled pony, but Solas was already finished saddling his chestnut stallion. Poor Varric did not look pleased about having to ride a four-legged animal, even if it was the smaller version.

Gwen did manage to mount her horse a more easily today, thanks to the brace. She adjusted her staff so it wouldn’t smack into Snowlight’s flank.

Haven began to stir in earnest as the sun started to rise over the mountains. Gwen’s breath fogged the air, fingers scratching Snowlight’s neck absently as she watched the explosion of colors that painted the sky. In her head, the strains of one of her favorite songs echoed and a ghost of a smile passed over her lips, fading as soon as she thought of a home.

_Here comes the sun, and I say it’s alright~_

She pushed away gloomy thoughts and hummed the tune to herself. Snowlight seemed to like it from the way she nickered, which earned her mount more pets and scratches.

“Breathtaking sight, isn’t it?” Cullen said. Gwen stopped humming. She’d been so preoccupied she hadn’t heard him approach.

“It is at that, Commander.” He came closer and reached for her, and she tamped down her disquiet when it was only to check the tack and adjust one of her stirrups.

“You seemed to mount with more ease today.”

“I’m a quick study, and the brace helped.” She ignored the demon in her head willing her to make a joke about lube.

Meanwhile, Varric was complaining. He was not a morning dwarf. “Do I have to ride this damn thing?” Or a dwarf interested in the equestrian arts.

Cassandra snorted. “I could strap you to the back of my warhorse if you would prefer, Varric.”

“Fine. If I can’t have baby dwarflets someday, I’m blaming you, Seeker.”

Gwen laughed. “I think we’re ready and daylight is wasting. Lead on, Cassandra, if you please.” She drew up her cowl and pinned it into place

“Be safe, Harwood, and Maker go with you.”

Gwen gave Cullen a tired smile and a nod. “Commander.”

“Andraste guide you all.” Leliana said, and they nudged their mounts into motion. Gwen spied Rosalee by the main gates and waved as she trotted by. Rosalee waved back with her whole arm.

_The Gwen Harwood Fanclub: Members 01_

As they rode past recruits, they were saluted, and Gwen heard a lot more variations of the Andrastian themed well wishes. She felt like she should do a parade wave and start using the royal “we”.

_We are most definitely not amused…_

They rounded the bend and toward the east gate. A handful of soldier held the gate doors open. Gwen hadn’t wanted all the fanfare and fuss. Hopefully it wouldn’t be that way every time.

Then they passed through the gates and sped up to a canter.

_And we’re off like a terd of hurtles, as my gramps used to say._

Gwen was a little excited at the beginning, seeing so much of Thedas that she had never seen. They made it to the Imperial Highway and had a view of Lake Calenhad before they stopped to water the horses, and themselves. After that, they rode south along the highway until late afternoon and Cassandra deemed it time to find a place to camp. Just off the highway was a dense copse of trees where they decided to stop for the night. Cassandra could have kept a merciless pace, but thankfully she didn’t.

Regardless, Gwen almost fell off Snowlight when she was trying to dismount, and Solas gave her a hand down. Her eyes watered when her legs hit the ground, the jolt jarring every nerve. Varric didn’t look like he was fairing much better. Gwen took out one jar of medicine Adan had given her out of pack and used a little, and shared half the dose with Varric. Her body was screaming after a full day of riding and after a short while, the medicine started to work and the pain eased.

They busied themselves brushing down their mounts as the sun sank beneath the horizon. Although the weather had warmed considerably once they left the Foothills, they still placed their bedrolls by the fire that Gwen ( _I’m so proud of me_ ) started with her very own magic.

_Look nonchalant. Act like you’ve done it a thousand times… It’s not a big deal._

“You look like I feel, Firecracker.” Varric lurched over to his bedroll at the foot of hers.

“Short and bitchy?” She shot him a look.

“That too. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were a tall dwarven woman.”

“Mmm, guess that means I can let my beard finally grow in now that I’ve been outed. What do you think, braids on the chin, maybe?” She stroked her beardless chin in thought.

Varric cackled. “Stop! I’m already cramping and that isn’t helping.”

“Stop giving me ammunition then, sweets.”

Varric and Gwen took first watch, Solas took second, and Cassandra would go last. Even with the wards Solas placed, Gwen agreed having a watch in place would be safer than not. So, the Seeker and the hobo slept.

The egg and half the cheese was gone, and she was going to save the rest of the cheese for tomorrow. For wow she ate half the bread with and washed it down some wine. She wasn’t much for alcohol at home and she still wasn’t, but at least the wine was watered-down. She would damn near kill for iced tea right now, or plain tea at least. She could attempt making it cold herself. It might be good to be a mage.

Gwen looked at the sickly green Breach, still visible to the north, a reminder that she wasn’t here for herself. Aside from the crackle of the fire, it was fairly quiet. It was unnerving after the noise of Haven and the Breach. The horses shuffled and made other animal noises and had the accompanying smells.

_Mmm, horse and human and dwarf and elf sweat, oh my…_

Actually, Gwen wasn’t sure Solas perspired. Ever. She knew that even though she’d tried to shade her face, she was going to have a sunburn come morning, but Adan’s miracle stuff made her care less.

Gwen decided now was a good time to stretch and she disregarded the odd look Varric gave her. “I’m stretching so I won’t be so sore once the Adan’s stuff wears off. I don’t want to use it unless I have to.”

Varric nodded in sudden understanding. “I get it. That just doesn’t look like it would be comfortable.”

Gwen laughed softly. “It hurts in a good way.”

“More than I needed to know, Firecracker.” He brought out a deck of well-worn playing cards and started shuffling them. “You play Wicked Grace at all?”

“Can’t say I ever had the pleasure.” Better to say that and sound like a sheltered twit than the outright truth. That and there were really a lot of card games she had no clue how to play, so it wasn’t entirely a lie.

“Wanna learn?” He grinned up at her.

“Why not? Teach me, oh great Master Tethras.” She didn’t have anything better to do, and so for the rest of their watch, Varric happily showed her the basics of Wicked Grace.

Cassandra woke Gwen first and she hissed after laying on the hard ground all night, shivering with the early morning chill that descended upon her after she left the warm cocoon of her bedroll. The sun hadn’t risen yet, but the sky was beginning to lighten. Gwen rolled up her Thedosian sleeping bag in the half-light, then secured it to her travel bag.

Still half-asleep Gwen, rubbed her nose and bit back a curse.

_GODDAMMIT! Sunburnt nose... Thedas, do you even sunblock?_

Yesterday was the most sun she’d gotten since she’d arrived. Gwen spent more time indoors or in the shadow of the mountains that in direct sunlight. On the bright side, her blushing would be less noticeable? She figured she would ask Solas before they got going for the day.

“Solas?” Gwen squinted slightly as the sun started to rise and the light hit her eyes.

“Yes, Gwen?” His back was to her as he tended his mount.

“How are you with healing sunburn?”

“Pardon?” He turned and raised a brow. “Ah, I see. I can help you with that.” A smirk growing on his hobo face.

_Yeah, laugh it up, jackass. I’m in this jam because of you!_

“Would you, please?”

He chuckled and said, “Hold still a moment.” He cupped his hands over her face, and a cool tingle trickled over her skin. “There. The redness is gone.”

Gwen rubbed her nose gingerly to make sure then beamed up at him. “Thank you, Solas.”

The party was on the move within the hour, traveling further south along the Imperial Highway. There weren’t many people, Gwen noticed. One or two wanderers were all they’d seen. She wondered why, aloud apparently, because Cassandra answered her. “Leliana’s scouts would have taken care of anything that would impede our progress.”

Gwen read between the lines well enough and said nothing else. She had bigger things to worry about than bandits dumb enough to stalk the highway with the Breach in the sky, among other things.

The roads weren’t in great condition either, deeply rutted from the passage of countless wagons, and frequently muddy. The weather was just as unreliable. One moment, they passed through a dreadfully rainy hamlet and by the next village, the sun would be out and everything was muddy, smelling of wet dog.

_Ah, Ferelden… At least I got a shower today?_

One of the Inquisition scouts met up with them when they stopped to water the horses, and Cassandra had apparently been expecting this. He led them off the road to a game trail that skirted around Redcliffe and took them straight to the camp they’d set up on the outskirts of the Hinterlands. They’d made good time.

Gwen climbed off Snowlight and a young woman in Inquisition gear greeted her and took the reins, and all their mounts were led off to a small cave behind the camp. Gwen stretched and looked around, then ventured into the camp with Solas, Varric, and Cassandra trailing behind her.

A dwarven scout with a familiar ( _adorable_ ) face walked up to Gwen and company, confidence in her every step. “You’re the Herald of Andraste! Inquisition Scout Harding at your service. I’ve heard the stories about what you did at the Breach. Everyone here has. Mage or not, you’ve got my word there’ll be no backtalk from anyone here. We’ll all do everything we can to help.”

_Wait for it…_

“Harding, huh? Ever been to Kirkwall’s Hightown?” Varric said.

Gwen rolled her eyes heavenward.

“I can’t say I have. Why?” Harding looked a little bemused.

“’Cause you’d be Harding in…OW!” Varric yelped then grumbled, bending down to rub his shin, scowling up a Cassandra. “Uh, you know, forget I said anything.”

“Ugh…” It was Cassandra’s catchphrase, really.

Gwen twisted around to glare at them both before giving Harding her attention. “Sorry about that. I’m not even going to ask about all the stories you’ve heard. I doubt I want to know. Anything I need to be made aware of before we go to the Crossroads?”

“Groups of apostates and rogue templars have been holed up on around the whole area, with a large concentration of the fighting near the King’s Road. They’ve put most of the natives out of their homes. I got a bird from with our new orders not long after we set up camp. You’ll get everything you need. I have one map here for you with the basics marked. We’ll update them at the end of each day.”

Gwen stood at a table with Harding and went over the map with her, with Cassandra and the others offering suggestions now and again. Gwen marked which places she’d try to make camps at first so Harding would send scouts out to those locations as a priority, then it was time to get to work.

“The refugees are struggling. I sent people to try and protect as many refugees as they could about an hour ago. No word back yet.” Harding frowned.

“We have no time to waste then. Thanks, Harding.” Gwen didn’t even look to see if anyone followed. She just walked. Fast.

Her heart was in her throat as she walked down the hill from the camp, past the empty hut on the left side of the road, and the towering ruin of Fort Connor overlooking the Crossroads, and she could hear the fighting.

She grabbed her staff and ran thinking only of protecting the Inquisition soldiers. There were bodies everywhere. Some in armor, some in robes, some in peasant clothes, but no Inquisition uniforms that she saw… yet. Her head spun a little, but she couldn’t afford to be overtaken by what she saw. Not now. Her knuckles were white around her staff as she threw a barrier over the Inquisition soldiers.

“Hold! We are not apostates!” Cassandra deflected an arrow from a templar archer, and if glares could kill…

“I don’t think they care, Seeker.” Varric grunted as he put a bolt through the archer’s eye with a sickening thud and the archer dropped to the ground. “IN ONE! WHOOP!”

This was surreal to Gwen. She’d killed demons already. This was bad. She was probably wraith green now.

Solas shouted at her, “Gwen! Behind you!”

“What?” Gwen whirled around and only managed to block a sword blow with her staff by sheer luck. The templar wasn’t done though.

Seconds stretched into what seemed like hours and she braced herself as the next swing of that templar's nicked blade came straight for Gwen’s neck. She wished she could move faster, she took a step back, blinking at the curious sensation tugging at her navel through her back. The scent of lyrium flooded her senses, then the world turned upside-down and she was spinning, falling apart and backward and through. Just as suddenly, it all came to a painful stop when she collided with the something solid. The ground?

 _No, not the ground_.

She blinked again, realizing she was leaning against a fence, and the boards were cracked where she'd smashed into it. Gwen was still standing and the templar was several yards away, swinging her sword at empty air.

Gwen paled. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph…”

_Did I just…?_

She didn’t have much time to give what just happened much thought because the knight had changed course and was charging at her. Her heartbeat was drumming in her ears and she saw the murderous fury in the woman’s eyes as she drew near. Gwen’s skin prickled with her magic and before she knew it, the templar was frozen solid, midstride, and Gwen’s fingers dripped with evaporating icicles.

With teeth bared, Gwen ran at the templar and took a mighty swing with her staff at the templar’s head like it was a tall T-ball. The broad, mace-like tip of Gwen’s staff smashed into the templar’s frozen face and knocked it clean off, sending it crashing to the ground to shatter against a boulder.

Gwen spun around, chest heaving, to see where Varric and the rest were at.

Varric and Cassandra ran past her. “Incoming!” Varric pointed at a group of apostates running into the crossroads from the north.

Adrenaline was flowing fast and hard through Gwen's veins, and any reason she had to hesitate left the second they started trying to attack _her_ people. She dropped another barrier on the Inquisition troops, and aimed for the asshole with the staff and the floating tome.

_Always pick off the squishy ones first._

“We are not templars! There is no need to—“

“They’re beyond caring, Solas,” Gwen said as she hurled a fireball at the spellcaster who began screaming as his robes ignited and seared his flesh. Cassandra granted the burning apostate mercy with her blade seconds later.

A loud cry came from behind Gwen, followed by several more. Solas dropped a barrier over them both, and shouted, “Seeker! More templars!”

Solas and Gwen were stuck between them and the dregs of the apostates. So many more…

“Lightning, Gwen.” Solas panted.

“What?”

Solas grabbed her staff hand and she felt electricity dancing over her skin.

“Right. Lightning!” She nodded in comprehension.

Solas twirled his staff over his head with his right hand ( _because he’s just got to be all fancy pants right now_ ) and she felt more power gather between them.

“NOW!”

Still connected, they moved as one, driving their staves into the ground as a wall of lightning spiked through the group of templars, slowing or knocking most of them down. Solas let go of her hand and froze one with a tower shield as Cassandra barreled past them and into the iced-templar, shattering them with her shield.

By then, Varric and the Inquisition troops caught up and started picking off the weakened templars. Gwen saw an archer taking shelter behind a tree that had evaded the lightning and one of the Inquisition soldiers was down a second later with a cry of pain. Gwen’s nostrils flared, and anger surged through her. She shot forward, the tug, the lyrium smell flooding her senses again, and she was in front of the archer a second later.

“Die mage!” The archer knocked an arrow.

“Not today, dipshit.” There was a loud crack and the archer was frozen with his bow drawn. “Oi! Varric!”

“I got it, Firecracker, but you better move!” A moment later, a bolt was protruding from the archer’s frozen skull, and Gwen was running in the opposite direction when it exploded and a couple frozen fingers landed in front of her.

“Damn…” She gaped at the icy digits on the ground.

“I think we’re safe, for now.” Cassandra heaved, sheathing her sword.

“We need more people down here.” Gwen squinted over at the Seeker, her lungs rattling as she tried to catch her breath.

“More should arrive tonight. They followed after us so we could hold this location.”

“Well, I’m glad they showed such confidence in our abilities.”

Solas was seeing to the wounded Inquisition soldier. They hadn’t lost any of their own, but the injured bloke would be off his feet for a while.

“…Until I took an arrow to the knee,” Gwen overheard the man say as a couple other soldiers moved him to a stretcher and ran him back to their camp. She shook her head then took stock of the damage as refugees started peeking out of the houses around them.

Gwen leaned on her staff as she looked grimly around the small village that had moments before been a battlefield and wondered at what point it would sink in that she had just killed people, but her blood was still pumping fast and thick from the fight. Guilt would inevitably come later.

“Nice one with that first templar, Firecracker! Remind me not to piss you off.” Varric slapped her on the back.

Her throat closed up and her chin quivered, eyes burning with the threat of tears.

_Not now. Don’t show them weakness. NOT NOW._

Gwen holstered her staff, arms shaking, and wiped angrily at her eyes, squaring her shoulders.

“Ser? Mother Giselle wishes to speak with you.”

Gwen nodded at the young woman who was addressing her, taking a fortifying breath. “Thank you. I’ll go see her in a moment.”

“No, thank you, and Maker keep you, Herald. You saved us today. I’ll never forget that as long as I live. Andraste’s fire surely burns bright in your breast.” The girl saluted and jogged off.

Gwen grew to hate herself a little more in that moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Varric likes his headshots, eh?
> 
> Next time: Coffee Talk with Mother Giselle, gaining some damn influence, and Solas says something about elven something-or-others.
> 
> Thanks so much for all the comments, subs, kudos, and shtuff! I would not keep writing this shite without it probably. :3


	12. Things Left Unsaid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen deals with the aftermath of defending the Crossroads, has a chat with Mother Giselle, Solas and Gwen share a moment, and Varric heats things up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'd, etc.

Inquisition troops marched into the Crossroads from the southeastern road, and the commanding officer approached Cassandra, ostensibly for orders, and saluted their party. “Corporal Vale and company reporting, ser. We’ll clear the dead from the field straight away. One pyre for aggressors, and a separate one for victims. I’ve set men to check on refugees to see what needs doing. I’ll send a runner when I have a full report ready with high priority items.”

Cassandra answered after a long pause, “Very good, Corporal Vale. Until later.”

Vale saluted and bowed his head, but didn’t move. Cassandra elbowed Gwen in the ribs, then Gwen realized Vale was saluting at _her_. She followed suit and he finally straightened and marched off, barking orders to his men.

“Cassandra, perhaps you, Varric, and Solas can assist refugees while I speak with Mother Giselle?” If they were going to treat her like the de facto high ranking officer, she might as well lob an order here and there, in the form of a suggestion anyway.

“Yes. That is a good idea. We shan’t go far.”

Gwen moved in a sort of daze toward a beacon of red, white, and gold that was Mother Giselle. A tiny whimper to her left gave her pause, however, and when looked down, she saw a little girl standing in beside the road, holding a soiled stuffed animal by one limb that was while the rest of it dangled by a thread in one dirty fist, her other hand gripped the fingers of a prone woman behind her, half-sunken into a pond. The child couldn’t have been more than six or seven. The girl watched Gwen with wide green eyes, and her chubby cheeks were stained with evidence of tears already shed.

“Is mamae sleeping?”

She knelt in front of the girl, her heart breaking. Gwen saw the woman was an elf, but the little girl didn’t look it. That wouldn’t bode well for the girl’s future considering how people of either race treated those who were elf-blooded. She would think of something to help the girl.

_Damn this war. I can’t even blame Anders alone for it because it was a long time coming._

“I’m Gwen. What’s your name?” Her voice shook and she took a steadying breath.

The little girl sniffled. “Nisha.”

“Is your father here, Nisha?”

The little girl shook her head.

She decided to change the topic and leave counseling to someone far more capable. “Do you know Mother Giselle?”

“Uh-huh.” Black curls bounced as she nodded.

“I’m supposed to talk to her, but I don’t know who she is and I’m really nervous. You look smart and brave. Will you help me, please?” Gwen held out a hand out tentatively.

The little girl’s chest puffed up, several emotions passed over Nisha’s open face before reluctantly releasing her grip on her mother’s hand to reach for Gwen’s. “Okay, Ser Gwen.”

“Thank you, Nisha. I will never forget you.”

Nisha lifted her little chin, dragging her toy and Gwen behind her, then approached the aging cleric. Mother Giselle was kneeling beside a wounded refugee’s cot, speaking quietly to them as they fell asleep. Gwen looked over her shoulder and saw the troops were enshrouding the little girl’s mother with care. She swallowed past the lump in her throat.

Nisha tugged Gwen’s fingers to get her attention. “Mamae Giselle? This is Ser Gwen. She’s shy.”

Giselle smiled warmly at the little girl. “Thank you, Nisha. If you go in the house, Sister Hylde might have some butter soup for you.”

“’Kay. Bye Ser Gwen!” Nisha scampered off into the house with her poor, bedraggled stuffed animal.

“You must be the woman they are calling the Herald of Andraste.”

Gwen’s attention returned to the cleric. “I was told you asked to speak with me, Mother.”

Giselle pulled Gwen aside. “I did. I am aware of the Chantry’s denouncement and those responsible for it. Such actions do our order no credit after what happened at the Conclave. Some of them have taken this opportunity to pull at tenuous threads of power in hopes of becoming the next Divine, and still many others are simply terrified. Too many good people have been taken from us for reasons we do not fully understand.”

Gwen looked at the line of shrouds passing by and the pyres burning brightly with Chantry sisters presumably speaking words over the corpses of the slain. “What you did for little Nisha was kind, Herald.”

Gwen shook her head. “I did nothing for her, Mother.”

“You showed her compassion.”

“It’s not enough.”

“I see you would give anything and everything to ease hurt for a victim of this war like Nisha. But if you did that, who would we have to seal the Breach? You cannot save everyone.”

“I have to try to save everyone I can.”

“My child, from what little I have seen of you today, I know I made the correct choice in speaking with you. I think if you reach out to the clerics in Val Royeaux, they will see you are not the fearsome creature conjured by tales from poisoned tongues. You need only be yourself and they will know the truth of you. At the very least, they will begin to doubt.”

_Have fun stormin’ Val Royeaux! Think it’ll work? It’d take a miracle! Or an asshole seeker with a templar scribe who punches people for no good reason..._

Gwen nodded in agreement. “And we may gain hope from a little doubt. Even if it only touches a few, every little bit matters.”

The cleric smiled and nodded. “I cannot be sure if you have been touched by the hand of the Maker or not. I think the people would rally to you as they have no other in ages. I see a woman before me who is capable of building the Inquisition into a force that will either deliver us, or destroy us.”

_HAHA! NO PRESSURE! At least I don’t feel like crying at the moment. Yay me._

“I am just one agent of many who are part of the Inquisition, Mother Giselle.”

Giselle gave Gwen a smile that was well-meaning, if a bit condescending. “Perhaps, but you are the _only_ Herald of Andraste. So I offer my help to the Inquisition. I will provide the names of those more open to discussion to Sister Leliana. I will send a messenger bird with a list tonight. Then I would like to journey to Haven, but only after I have seen that the wounded here have been tended to.”

“My party should be able to accompany you on the trip back if you wait a day or two. If not, I’m sure I can speak to Corporal Vale about assigning an escort to travel with you.”

“That would be most agreeable, Herald of Andraste.” The cleric nodded.

Gwen looked away, rubbing the back of her neck. “Agent Harwood or Gwen may prove to be less of a mouthful, Mother Giselle.”

“Perhaps, but I think the title suits you, Herald of Andraste. Now if you will excuse me, I should see to Nisha and write that letter to Sister Leliana.”

Gwen got another lump in her throat. “Please pass along my thanks to Nisha for her help, if you would be so kind?”

“I shall, and I will meet with you again soon. Bonsoir, Herald of Andraste.”

The sky was growing dark and Gwen went looking for her companions, finding them by the sound of Varric’s cackle. They were all gathered near a sign post at a fork in the road.

“Firecracker, you doing alright?”

Gwen thought of Nisha without her mother and said, “Better than most, I think. Just… tired.” She felt numb, in reality.

They started making their way back to the outskirts camp, and Gwen told Cassandra what Mother Giselle had to say. The Seeker volunteered to write the report and then fight over who was going to sleep in what tent began.

“I don’t really care who I share with, but Cassandra, if you’re going to be up late writing a report, then take a tent to yourself, and I’ll sleep outside. Solas and Varric can share. Does that arrangement bother anyone?”

“Are you sure, Gwen? I would be just as comfortable sleeping outside, if not more so.”

“Yes, Solas, I’m sure. I have more than enough natural insulation.” And she wanted to be alone. Or as alone as she was going to get.

They joined some of the troops around one of the campfires and had a modest supper of stale bread and roast goat. Gwen had no appetite, however, and slipped away, finding her travel bag in tent where Cassandra’s gear was stowed.

The Seeker followed. “Are you feeling unwell, Herald?”

Gwen waved a hand of dismissal. “I’m fine. Do you have news from the Corporal or a list of anything the refugees need?”

“Yes. I have a list of items to seek, though I fear we will have to go to Redcliffe for a healer.” Cassandra went over the rest of the list with Gwen, which she was more than familiar with.

“Master Dennett may be more difficult to reach than we would like. We would have to cross the King’s Road to reach his farm.” Cassandra pointed to it on the map.

“That’s alright. I have some ideas on that score. We’ll see how they play out come tomorrow. We’ll start small, establish I marked here on the East Road, and take care of some of these rifts tomorrow south east of the Crossroads. I want to make sure the refugees are at least warm and fed. If we’d reached here earlier…”

“We are doing all we can, which is more than most have tried to do. Now I need to finish writing this report and send it off.”

“Thank you, Cassandra, and good night.”

“Good night, Herald.” Gwen missed the mild look of concern Cassandra gave her as she left.

Gwen brought her bedroll out of the tent and dragged it a little away from the camp. She took off her boots, sat on her bedroll and looked up at the night sky.

She thought about the faces of people she had hurt, and the woman she killed. She could have chosen death, and which would mean the end of all Thedas, or take a life and the dark scar it would bestow on her soul. She despised that the choice had been forced on her. She knew she had done those things, but in she somehow felt separate from it. Something was fractured inside her, and maybe it was for the better until the Breach and its creator were dealt with.

Her ears pricked at the sound of someone approaching in the dark, and the soft glow of a staff revealed Solas coming toward her. She was saved the humiliation of being caught in the midst of ugly sobs. When Gwen cried, it was not pretty. On the Hiddles-Maguire scale, she was Maguire +5.

Gwen peered up at Solas as he began to speak, “I did not mean to disturb you, but I had hoped to speak to you about a nearby artifact I discovered in my studies of the Fade.”

_Ah, the hobo has come to be the comic relief. Studies of the Fade my ass…_

“If I am correct, this artifacts is Elvhen in origin and activating it, and others like it, should we find more, may help strengthen the Veil. I would like to search for it while we are here, if that is amenable to you?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because whether you have noticed or not, it seems that everyone is looking to you for direction. I am merely following suit.” He circled her bedroll, casting wards on the ground around her.

“You never struck me as a follower. You have your own sense of style and everything, Solas.”

“Sometimes, allowing others to lead offers new perspective,” he said as he stood behind her.

“So are you saying you are currently enjoying the view from the rear?”

He had just stepped around to her left, and his voice faltered. “I—well…”

Gwen’s lips twitched and she cleared her throat gently. “Just mark the location on the map and we’ll search for it in the morning, Solas. Sleep well.”

The mage placed one last ward, looking visibly relieved. “And you, Gwen.”

When he was gone, Gwen curled up in under her bedroll and somehow slept through the night, but as soon as she woke, she forgot what she dreamed about except for a pair of tragic blue eyes. She felt better though, and her stomach turned into a tiny rage demon, growling in hunger.

The sun wasn’t up yet and the wards Solas placed were still glowing around her. She didn’t really want to test one out, but she needed to use the little girl’s tree and eat sometime today.

_I don’t want to throw a boot on it and alert the whole camp needlessly… How do dispel?_

Gwen’s face twisted in thought as she studied her marked hand and held it over one of the wards, trying to feel it, listen to it. There wards tinkled softly, like crystal chimes hanging on one side of an open window.

_Chimes blowing in the wind of the Fade… So shut the window, dummy._

She stood up in the center of her bedroll and held her hands up, grasping at the edge of that magical window and slammed it shut with both hands. The result was a stiff breeze with a faint whiff of seaweed and lyrium, and no more wards. She was inordinately proud of herself for about a minute before she tugged on her boots ran off to find the latrine.

A bit later, the party stood gathered around a small table looking at the updated map of the area and everyone but Gwen argued about where to go and what to do first, though Solas kept throwing meaningful looks her way. Gwen finally got annoyed and pushed herself between Varric and Cassandra, rolled up the map and started walking down to the Crossroads again without saying a word.

Gwen paused to gather some herbs in an abandoned garden with her tiny sickle, giving the others the opportunity to follow her once they realized she wasn’t going to walk back up to the camp. There was a flurry of footsteps behind her, and she hummed to herself as she tucked a couple varieties of elfroot into her bag. She could feel the _smug_ rolling off Solas, though.

_He's got such an 'I told you so' face... :/_

Cassandra tapped Gwen’s shoulder, but Gwen didn’t stop walking. “Herald, where are we going?”

As they walked north through the Crossroads, the people looked weary, but they didn’t look as frightened today. Mother Giselle was reading to Nisha and looked up, murmured something to the girl, and both of them waved. Gwen waved back and smiled.

“The East Road,” Gwen said. “There’s a good spot to set up a camp around there, and I told Solas we’d look for an artifact he was researching on the way.”

“What sort of an artifact?” The Seeker sounded suspicious.

“You’ll see soon, I believe.”

They were stopped by a scout in front of a stone archway leading to the East Road.

“Watch yourselves. Got bandits ahead, but they ain’t like any bandits I’ve ever seen. Blighters’ve been blocking the East Road. Er, pardon my language, ser.”

Cassandra frowned. “How are they different from other bandits?”

“Well, ser, they’ve got better weapons and armor than normal ones, and some decent bowmen. Ain’t got no interest in stealing so much as chasing away, and if they can’t do that, they don’t take prisoners, if you know what I mean. So they’re shit bandits, or they ain’t bandits at all, once again, begging your pardon for my language, ser.”

“Thank you for the warning. What’s your name?”

“Belette. Recruit Belette, ser.” Belette saluted.

“We’ll take care of it, Recruit Belette.” Gwen returned the salute after a moment of hesitation. She didn’t know if she would ever get used to that.

The group moved forward, and Gwen took the long way around and ugly statue to get a better look at the bandits’ numbers. Two archers, two warriors.

“Ideas?” Varric whispered.

Gwen thought a moment. “Varric, flank the archers and wait for a signal from me and Solas. You’ll know it when you see it. Take out the archers first, then we pick off the warriors. Sound like a plan?”

“Sound as any, Firecracker.” Varric vanished, and Cassandra already had her sword unsheathed and her shield ready.

Gwen looked at Solas. “Be ready to freeze the warrior on the right, and I’ll take the one on the left.”

The smile Solas had on his face accompanied by the sparkle in his eye was a little unnerving, and if Gwen was honest with herself, kinda hot, in an, “I’m a secret Elvhen God,” kinda way. She shivered, then turned and saw Varric appear and vanish again on a boulder behind the archers.

“Now.” Gwen said, staff in hand as she froze the warrior on the left. The warrior on the right barely getting out a squeak before Solas did the same to her.

Cassandra charged at the archers with an unholy howl, then Varric hopped down on the shoulders of the closest on, piggybacking him while unloading a series of bolts into the chest of his friend. Varric did a backflip off his ride before the Seeker crashed into the bandit archer with her shield, sticking her sword in his throat.

The warriors were starting to thaw, and Solas threw a barrier over Varric and Cassandra while Gwen put a barrier over herself and Solas. They started letting loose with their staves while Varric flanked one, and Cassandra beat the other to a pulp. It was over more quickly than Gwen anticipated.

“I doubt that’s all of them.” Varric said as he started looting one of the bodies.

Cassandra was looting another. “Undoubtedly.”

Even Solas was picking through the clothes of the deceased bandits.

Gwen had no desire to reach that particular milestone at the moment. They moved on once the bodies were cleaned of coin and useful items.

Solas pointed to a ruin. “The location of the artifact should be—“

“Demon.” Gwen spotted the shade attacking an elf mage and flung a fireball at it. The group immediately descended on a shade, and over almost before it began. Gwen recognized the mage from the game, though she was prettier here, but she had a dark look about her eyes.

“Peace, friends!” The elven woman shouldered her staff, and everyone sheathed their weapons as well. “I see you come ready for battle by the weapons you bear. The name’s Mihris, and I mean you no harm.”

“Out here fighting demons alone with the Breach in the sky? Is that wise?”

“One does what one needs must do in times such as these, though fighting demons at all is fruitless as trying to sweep sand out of a desert. There will always be more. I’ve no way to close the rifts, but I come seeking an artifact of my people.

Gwen thought she might have heard Solas growl behind her.

_Rein it in, Fenny…_

”I believe the artifacts will measure the Veil and could help us discover where new rifts may appear. I’ll admit I wasn’t expecting quite so many demons as I found, though. I think one of them is near here, if you’d be willing to join me for a spell.”

_Was that… a mage pun? Because it should be._

Gwen’s lips twitched a little. “It certainly sounds worth checking into, but tell me, what took you away from your clan?”

_Yeah, I’m an asshole._

The Dalish elf’s eyes narrowed by a degree. “I was…am, First of Clan Virnehn. I left in service of my clan when I saw that great tear in the Veil appear in the sky. I know more about magic and the Veil than any shemlen,” Mihris gave Gwen a haughty glare. “So I want to help.”

“Ma harel, da’len.” Solas sounded calm, but there was a lethal undercurrent in his voice that made a shiver travel up her spine. She wasn’t sure why he was so getting peevish about this, apart from the fact that the Dalish were just bloody wrong about everything.

“I—we should keep moving.”

“Quite right, Mihris.” Gwen said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

A prickle of magic ran along Gwen’s skin from the direction ruin, but it was a little different from what she’d experienced so far, which was limited, but still this was very subtle in comparison. If she hadn’t already known where it the artifact was located, sensing that would’ve been a good sign, though she wondered if it was the artifact she felt or something else. The more artifacts they found, the more likely she would find out.

The entrance was caved in, of course, and Mihris, knowing _so much more about magic than anyone else there_ said, “We’re going to need focused magical energy to move those rocks out of the way. Hey, flat-ear, think you can manage it?”

Gwen’s knuckles were white from how tight her fists clenched, bristling at the way Mihris spoke to Solas with such disrespect.

_Call me an ignorant shem all you want, but at least I know what MY tattoo actually means. WOMP WOMP! Feeling crafty, there Mihris? Wanna make a pack of lies to feed ignorant shems like me while you show off with your June vallaslin?_

“Ma nuvenin, da’len.” Solas laid a gentle hand on Gwen’s shoulder and squeezed, seeming to sense her distress, whether he knew what she was distressed about or not. Then Solas stepped forward and his hands glowed brightly as he raised the stones and they reformed into the pillars they were before.

“Well done, for a flat-ear.” Mihris sniffed.

Gwen was ready to turn and let Mihris have it, but Solas hand on her shoulder again stayed her. She turned and gave the hobo a look that said, “ _We will discuss this later._ ”

Solas replied to Gwen's look with hint of a smile.

A green blob flew through the air, missing everyone, and Cassandra shouted, “More demons!” Then the Seeker ran into the dark ruin. The demons were handled quickly and they all filed in.

Staves were the only thing giving off light now that the wisps were wispier. Gwen saw the veilfire brazier on the wall and approached, and waved her hand over it. She felt the ghost of warmth, and a dormant wisp, but it had purpose. She tickled it awake with a spark of magic and it burst to life giving off an image of fire in a greenish-blue hue that gave off no heat. She picked up a dusty old torch, held it to the brazier, and veilfire sprang from the brazier into the torch. Gwen grinned despite herself.

Varric stared. “What in Andraste’s ass is that? Since when does fire squeal and look so creepy?”

Solas answered, “I have never seen it before, but I believe this is veilfire. It is a… memory of flame that burns in this world where the Veil is thin. Fascinating.” His fingers brushed the tips of the flames as a smile lit his features.

“Hokay then…” the dwarf shrugged.

Cassandra grumbled. “Shall we continue?”

Solas and Gwen grinned sheepishly and Mihris groused about shems under her breath.

They moved into the next room and the demons within were easily defeated. Gwen walked straight for the artifact without thinking.

“I believe that is what we’re searching for.” Solas said with a hint of surprise in his voice.

“Aye. If you switch that crystal, it should turn on and strengthen the Veil.”

Gwen poked the crystal and it shocked her finger a little, then the artifact was all aglow, and there was a shift in the air around her.

“The wards are helping to strengthen the Veil. This area should be safer for travelers now.” Solas looked at Gwen and nodded his approval.

Mihris was smiling to herself after a moment of searching through the dusty leavings. “Should be useful, and it seems the ancestors left something behind for little me as well. I do believe our alliance is concluded, shem. Go in peace.”

Gwen glared at Mihris’ back, then looked at Solas and tilted her head toward the Dalish woman. There was a twinkle in his eye as he nodded and said to Mihris, “Ma halani, ma glandival. Vir enasalin.”

Mihris got a look like she was sucking on mabari shite dipped in lemon curd. “I… Perhaps you’re right. Here. Take it.” She shoved the amulet she’d found in Solas’ outstretched hand. She started stalking out and shot over her shoulder, “Go with Mythal’s blessing.”

Solas pocketed the amulet.

Gwen said to Mihris’ retreating form, “Dareth shiral.”

“Dread wolf take you, shem!” Mihris cursed.

Gwen looked at Solas with a wry grin. “Was it something I said?”

Solas looked curious. “Perhaps the shock of hearing elvhen come from human lips?”

“I picked up a little here and there. Speaking of picking up…” Gwen picked up the veilfire torch where she’d dropped it fighting the last batch of demons and did a cursory search of the ruin. One thing she was pleased about was that most things seemed to be located in the same places here as they were in the game. For example: Weapon enchantments written in veilfire paint. Only she actually had to have Solas hold the torch while she sketched the shape of the rune in her little book, while Cassandra looked on in fascination and Varric muttered something about using that idea for a possible future novel.

“Right. Who’s up for a little more bandit hunting?” Gwen grinned, tucking her notes away.

About thirty minutes later, they were patching each other up after clearing out the bandit camp in the Rebel Queen’s Ravine.

Varric only got nicked by an arrow, so he got fidgety. “I’m going to scout ahead through the tunnel. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Gwen nodded and tried to keep focusing on the healing spell Solas was trying to show her, when she went pale; her muscles tensed, about to run after Varric.

Too late.

A thunderous roar reverberated through her bones, and the sound of massive wings beating the air came partly in view. Gwen only saw the tip of a wing over the rocky outcropping. 

“HOLY SHIT!” Varric’s shout echoed through the tunnel. True to his word, Varric came running back a minute later with his ass on fire. “PUT ME OUT!”

Gwen was panicking, but not Cassandra. Cassandra was full out belly laughing. Solas, meanwhile, was calm and collected, freezing a patch of ground and forcing Varric to sit on it.

Steam rose up around Varric as dragon fire melted the magic ice. “Ahhhhhhhh, thanks Chuckles. By the way, everyone, in case you weren’t aware, there’s a fucking dragon that way. I’ll be writing a sternly worded letter to the Hinterlands travel advisory board.”

Cassandra was flat on the grass, hiccupping.

Gwen scrubbed a hand over her face. “A dragon, and it’s not even noon. You okay to move, Varric?”

Varric stood up and tried to check his behind. “That depends. Are my pants as holy as Andraste’s Ashes?”

“If you’re asking whether we can see your dwarven arse, then the answer is no.” Though admittedly, the thought of Varric in dragon fire chaps made her snort.

“So then, where are we going next, other than away from the dragon?”

“Gwen, any thoughts?” Solas said, leaning into his staff.

_You have no idea…_

She grinned at Solas, and started walking toward the East Road. “Daylight’s wasting.” The hobo and dwarf followed.

Cassandra scrambled up from the grass and ran after them. “Wait for me!”

Gwen led them south again toward the Crossroads, humming, “The road goes ever on and on~”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time:  
> In search of a Thedosian potion for asthma, Gwen won't let Solas do any of the fun star puzzles and he has a sad, cranky elven farmers, cults, a ruined picnic. Phew. What a day that's gonna be!
> 
> Gwen doesn't like it when other people talk shit about her friends or people she is close-ish with, and she has a high threshold before she'll let loose, but because of recent events, she may be less likely to hold back unless someone is there to stop her. Mihris was portrayed one way to elvish Inquisitors in the game, and flat out lies to Inquisitors of other races. I felt like adding a bit more acid to her was worth it.
> 
> If you don't know much about what Mihris was up to prior to Inquisition, read, Dragon Age: The Masked Empire, or you know, check out the wiki if that's too much extra reading for you, but if you're willing to read my poorly written swill, then... lol. <3
> 
> Thanks again for reading, subbing, kudos, comments, and your sweet, sweet lovin'.


	13. Let's Just Get This Over With Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen and Co. getting sh*t done in the Hinterlands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a little longer than normal. It wasn't cooperating and I had other writing projects to work on. I still do, actually, and I'm a little behind. That said, I hope this isn't too terribly boring until I get the next bit out, which should be a fun bit to write.
> 
> Thanks to everyone for comments, subs, kudos and love!
> 
> Not beta'd and sometimes I go back in and edit my stuff because I don't always find stuff in an initial editing session. Anyhoo... <3

Several hours later, the wicked shin-splints in Gwen’s legs were killing her. It was like the bloodiest, goat-filled, demon-infested trip to Disneyland ever. They were leaving a cave where they’d found red lyrium (to Varric’s great discomfort, though they destroyed what they could) and Solas had helpfully pointed out another supply cache to mark on the map for Recruit Whittle.

The amount of goat carcasses the group dragged into the outskirts camp to be delivered to the hunter in the Crossroads was a source of laughter for many recruits, until it was pointed out that many of them had eaten the previous night, and many refugees had not. The laughter ceased and the goats were delivered while the Gwen and company continued on.

The camp by Lake Lothias was prepared, and Gwen already stated the plan to stay there that night, because strategically it was the best suited to what she wanted to do the next day, and that camp had a waterfall. Gwen internally lamented showers in general, but she just really wanted to not be covered in unidentifiable gore, dust, sweat, grime, goat fur, and Maker knew what else, even if it meant standing under cold water. A fourth camp at Dwarfson’s Pass was being erected, though Gwen doubted it would be used by their party much, but there was another supply cache in the area for that Whittle bloke.

Four rifts were sealed between East Road and Dwarfson’s Pass: One near a gate to the East Road, one at Calenhad’s Foothold, one right in front of some poor elven woman’s house ( _how had she not gone utterly barmy in there, seriously_ ) and another near the cave that had the red lyrium.

In between, they’d had run-ins with templars, where Solas commented snidely, “It must have been some time since these rogue templars have encountered a mage of any skill.” They also came across frightened apostates, who were all more familiar with magic than Gwen, but still ended up dead. Afterward, Gwen looked at one of them, gaunt, dark circles under their eyes as though they hadn’t slept in days, and she turned away as Solas started to pick through the apostate’s robes.

When they’d run into the first Astrarium, there had been some debate as to who would look at it. Varric and Cassandra went goat hunting for the refugees while Solas and Gwen went head to head on the matter. In the end, Gwen won by displaying her aptitude for puzzles, and for distracting Solas with large piles of books. She mollified Solas with the promise that he could complete the next puzzle, since there appeared to be two others in the region.

Gwen had hoped that there wouldn’t be any Oculara, but unfortunately, those existed as well, and she let Solas use the first two they found. She was reluctant to use them, given their origins.

By the time they reached the foot of the stairwell leading up to Winterwatch Tower, where the cultist’s were hunkered down, Gwen took one look at the steps and scowled.

“Be thankful you’re not in Kirkwall, Firecracker.” Varric patted her back as he tromped up ahead of her.

“Why is that?”

Cassandra answered, “Kirkwall is made of nothing but stairs; though it has as many stairs as it has thugs and chatty dwarves.”

Varric cackled, “Now, now, Seeker, I distinctly recollect being up to my elbows in relief efforts when a couple thugs pounced on me. Next thing I knew, I was waking up to your beautiful mug.”

Gwen snorted.

“If the conversation continues in this vein, you will be fortunate to awaken again.” Cassandra grumbled.

“Did you wake up to the same thing, Firecracker?”

Gwen trudged up each flight of stairs, puffing and panting. “Well, sort of. I got Cassandra and Sister Leliana. So it seemed like a bit of a ‘Bad Seeker, Good Sister’ routine. In comes the furious one, then the other to speak gently and coax information out of me. Pointless since I still can’t remember what bloody happened.”

“We did no such thing!” Cassandra huffed.

Gwen laughed breathlessly at the top of the stairwell. “I never said you did, Cassandra. You’re an honorable woman, but Sister Leliana does what she does for the Inquisition for a reason, yes?”

“I…you are not wrong. Leliana would have no compunction in turning a situation like that to her advantage, if such an opportunity were to exist.”

“You were both doing what you thought was necessary for the safety of the people, so I can’t fault you for it.” Gwen rubbed her throbbing legs after they crossed a short wooden bridge, and Cassandra had the beginnings of a smile on her stern face when a shrill cry echoed from the southeast.

Varric squinted in that direction and called out, “Templar deserters attacking one of our scouts!” Everyone, including Gwen, started running, but she fell behind fast. She felt like druffalo poop.

_Maker’s breath? I would like some breath. Cardio sucks…_

Then she smacked herself mentally remembering that she had a new trick up her proverbial sleeve.

Gwen looked in the direction she wanted to go in and took a step forward, sinking some mana into it, and less than a second later, she found herself between Ritts and the templars. Gwen then sneezed violently, albeit unintentionally, on the templars. The lyrium and fade combo that clogged up her sinuses after a fade-step was something she would have to work on. It reminded her of getting pool water in her nose if she didn’t hold her breath, only less wet.

“Did this bloody apostate just fuckin’ sneeze on us, Tiggs?” Said one templar, as if he were speaking out of a tin can.

“I fink so, Kedge. In fact, I fink the little bitch did it on purpose.” The templar named Tiggs took a swing at Gwen with his rusty sword, only to be stunned when it met with resistance in the form of a shield and one Cassandra Pentaghast.

_If these were the brand of assholes they had watching mages before, it’s no wonder the Circles rebelled… Criminy…_

Gwen felt a barrier envelop her, and a second later a chunk of ice rang slammed into Kedge’s helm with a clang, and the ice kept coming. The templar looked around in a daze, searching for the source of the onslaught of hail.

“What the—“ became Tiggs’ last words as Cassandra brought the broadside of her blade up between his legs, and he sank to the ground squealing about two octaves higher than he was a moment before, and the Seeker kicked him onto his back and plunged her blade into his throat.

Solas fade-stepped next to Gwen, and they both fired their staves at the last templar standing. Varric whistled and caught Kedge’s attention, the templar’s head swiveling toward the dwarf, and Varric started waving one pinkie and with a shit-eating grin spreading across his face.

THUNK! Kedge gurgled around the arrow lodged in his throat.

“How’d you like that, asshole?!” Ritts crowed, lowering her bow behind Kedge.

Varric pulled a red handkerchief out of one deep pocket and wiped some blood spatter off his face. “Nice shot, kid.”

Kedge pitched forward, landing with a clatter on his face.

Then the looting commenced, and once again, Gwen didn’t participate, and busied herself with marking the location of the last of the supply caches for Recruit Whittle and gathering an herb or three.

No one had asked her yet why she didn’t help loot the bodies, though she had examined a recently deceased woman in a pass before the last rift they’d closed and found a letter on her from Lord Berand. Gwen wouldn’t let anyone loot that one, and everyone seemed in agreement with her about it.

Gwen fade-stepped back to the group, gnawing on a leaf of elfroot. Ritts was pacing nervously as the bodies of the templars were set ablaze.

_If you don’t have a mount, then freakin’ fade-steeeeeeep!_

“Andraste’s tits… Thanks so much for your help. If you hadn’t come when you did, I—I might be dead.” Ritts eyes flitted over to a blanket beneath a fir tree, a ruined picnic, and the body of her apostate companion, staring sightlessly up at the sky.

Cassandra looked at the remains of the picnic. “A mage?”

“Eldredda—erm, yes. Eldredda. I…I think that was her name. At least I’d heard other apostates call her that.” Ritts flushed.

“What of this picnic?” Cassandra’s eyes fixed on Ritts.

Ritts squirmed. “The apostate must’ve been hunting for…blood magic. The templars attacked the, well, her, and I just got caught in the middle.”

The scout stood there, wringing her hands. Even Ritts didn’t buy the feeble lie she’d just told. “Alright.” Ritts sighed. “Truth is I might’ve been dallying with Eldredda.”

“And your romantic interlude was interrupted by the templars?” Varric said.

Ritts nodded. “When she first saw me and didn’t attack, we started to talk and well… Are you going to report me?”

Cassandra started to speak, “Yes, of co—“

“Cassandra, hold a moment please.” Gwen said.

The Seeker clamped her mouth shut, eyes narrowed, but she nodded.

Gwen beckoned everyone to her for a huddle. Varric looked like he wanted to speak.

“Herald, the girl needs to be taken to task for her mistake.”

“Is this the best time to be splitting hairs and sticking to rules considering why we’re even standing here right now?”

Cassandra frowned in thought. “You may have a point.”

Gwen looked at Varric, who looked as if he was going to pop if he didn’t speak. “Varric, opinion?”

“The girl could be an asset, and a good one. We shouldn’t penalize her when we could use the skills she’s got to help the cause.”

Gwen nodded. “I agree.”

“As do I.” Solas nodded sagely.

_BECAUSE OF COURSE HE NODS SAGELY._

Gwen shoved Varric out of the huddle and looked at Ritts.

Varric walked up to Ritts. “Alright. After a little conference, we all think that it takes some talent to talk an apostate out of her smalls in the middle of a war. So if you use that gift to make contacts and get information for the benefit of the Inquisition, then our lips are sealed.”

Ritts sagged a little in relief and smiled. “Yes! Alright. I can do that. I…thanks for going easy on me.”

“Don’t thank me. Thank the Herald.”

Ritts eyes widened. “The Herald…of Andraste? I will serve to my best ability, my lady, and Maker be with you.” The young elf saluted Gwen even as Gwen glared at Varric for dropping the “H-of-A-bomb.”

Gwen saluted Ritts. “Go let your partner know you’re alive, then report to Scout Harding at the outskirts camp, alright?”

“As you command, Herald of Andraste. Do you have messages to deliver?”

“Yes. You have a map?”

“Aye, ser.” Ritts got her map out.

Gwen had her copy everything that wasn’t already there. “See that Recruit Whittle gets a message at the Crossroads about where to collect these supply caches as soon as possible. The refugees need to be clothed and fed.”

“Oh, one more thing, ser. There’s a rift down by the gate to the southeast of here. Some nasty demons down there.” Ritts marked it on Gwen’s map, and Gwen smiled.

“Thanks, Ritts.”

“Herald.” She saluted again and sprinted off toward the camp at the pass.

“That was a bold idea, Herald. I admit that I wouldn’t have done the same, but I think it was perhaps wiser that you did it this way.” Cassandra patted Gwen’s shoulder.

“What of the rift? Should we not attempt to close it?” Solas said.

Gwen could feel the power coming from it, and her mark wasn’t even glowing. It was sturdier than the last few were, and she was growing more familiar with picking up on different magical vibrations or frequencies at a surprising rate. Then again, she was being constantly exposed.

She looked at Solas and shook her head. “Not this one. Not yet. We’ll have to come back to it.”

Then Gwen pointed to the Winterwatch Tower. “The cult where the man from the Crossroads said his son would be should be in there, as well one Lord Berand according to the letter on that body we found in the pass. He may like to know what happened to her.”

“We should move quickly. The potion is necessary for the woman at the Crossroads.” Solas urged.

“Too many innocents are caught between the templars and mages. It is disheartening to see such depravity.” Cassandra’s frown deepened.

As they got closer to the tower, Gwen felt a whisper of something old, but she recognized it. She knew with certainty there was an artifact in the tower, but this sense of it helped. “I think I feel another of those elven artifacts nearby…” Then it was quickly overwhelmed by a nearby fade rift.

Solas looked at Gwen in askance. “I feel no such thing.”

Gwen maintained a neutral expression. “We shall see.”

“Indeed.” Solas said.

The party approached a woman standing proudly in front of the portcullis of the Winterwatch Tower. The woman’s eyes looked over Gwen in suspicion. “Hold. We do not allow just anyone within these walls. State your purpose or be gone.”

Cassandra stepped forward. “We are agents of the Inquisition. We are here seeking a young man named Hyndel. His mother is in urgent need of a potion only he makes. We also have correspondence for another we believe is here with you. A Lord Berand, I believe.”

The woman was still staring at Gwen. “So, you must be the one they name as the Herald of Andraste for what you did at Haven. But are you truly? The Maker has not shared his knowledge with me.”

Cassandra stepped in front of Gwen protectively, which Gwen thought was kind of sweet. She stepped to the side and endured the woman’s scrutiny. Whether or not Gwen was the Herald or not was a moot point. She was there to do a job, and she would tell this woman what she needed to hear to get it done.

Gwen raised her chin. ”I _am_ the Herald of Andraste, and I _can_ seal rifts. Who are you to question me?”

_Charisma check… roll a D20…_

“I am Speaker Anais and I not only question, but demand you prove yourself. Show me how the rifts bend to your will: The will of the Maker. Show me the power you claim to wield.”

_I think I failed that charisma check…_

“Right then. Let’s get this over with.”

The Speaker shouted, “Raise the portcullis! The Herald of Andraste has come to show us all the might of the Maker moves through her.”

_Good grief…_

The cultists buzzed quietly as the party walked through the small hold, staring at all of them with a mixture of fear and skepticism. Gwen was getting used to seeing that expression on most people’s faces. Maybe she would take up wearing an Orlesian mask for shits and giggles.

Solas spoke softly, “I suppose it makes sense that some would begin to worship the Breach out of desperation.”

The mark sparked to life and sent a jolt through Gwen, and while no longer painful, it was still jarring. Her left glove was singed from the rifts she’d closed already that day. She supposed that would have to be taken into consideration in future armor designs when it came to her. The four of them stood at the edge of the cave as a crowd began to gather behind them.

Cassandra twisted around and commanded, “Stay back for your own safety!”

The crowd meekly obeyed, backing away, much to Cassandra’s satisfaction.

“Ready?” Gwen said.

Cassandra nodded, facing the rift. “Ready.”

“Good to go.” Varric primed Bianca.

Solas twirled his staff with a wolfish grin. “Indeed.”

A few minutes later, the whole of the tower exclaimed in awe as the rift was sealed with a solid boom. Though it wasn’t a terribly powerful rift, the cultists were fortunate it hadn’t been worse.

Gwen tucked her staff away. “Let’s find Hyndel, Lord Berand, and the artifact.” Time to get back to business.

Speaker Anais was waiting for Gwen as they emerged from the cave where the rift was, a little worse for the wear. The woman’s expression had gone from skepticism to reverence. “I was a fool to have doubted you, Herald of Andraste.” She kneeled and others around her did as well.

Gwen shrugged her shoulders in discomfort from both the situation, and general fatigue. “Please, rise. There’s no need for that.”

Speaker Anais stood, head bowed. “How may we serve you and the will of the Maker, Herald?”

Gwen tried something different. “Erm, well, it would be helpful if you and your followers divided some your efforts for the benefit all by assisting refugees, spreading word of the Inquisition’s efforts, and if anyone hears anything of note that may be of use to the Inquisition along the way, then I think the Maker would be pleased.” Gwen saw that there were enough people to carry out all these tasks and there was no need in a realistic setting to relegate the whole group to one purpose.

The Speaker rose and bowed. “As you say, Herald of Andraste. Your will be done.”

This made Gwen uncomfortable, but that seemed to be the theme of her time in Thedas.

Gwen returned to the present. “Thank you, Speaker Anais.”

“You all look as if you could use some respite from your travels for a time. We would be honored if you take your midday meal here with us. It’s nothing fancy, but we’ve enough to share.”

Gwen smiled. “That would be very welcome, thank you.”

“You seem to have a knack for delegation, Gwen.” Solas said as they headed into the taproom.

Varric sniffed. “Something smells good. I smell… vintage wine.” The dwarf ran up the stairs. Cassandra stomped up behind him, shaking her head.

Gwen looked at Solas and started up the stairs. “Oh?”

“You also seem to be a quick-study. When there is time, there is much I would discuss with you, if I may?”

Gwen ignored Solas for the time being, pulling the letter from Lady Vellena out of her bag as stooped next to a table and spoke to the two people sitting there, “Are you acquainted with Lord Berand?”

They both nodded and pointed to the balcony.

“We may speak later when there is time, of course, Solas.” Gwen smiled as Solas bowed his head.

Varric and Cassandra sat at a table and bickered over a bottle of wine.

There was a gentle tap on Gwen’s shoulder, and she turned to see a young man, his face fraught with worry. “Apologies, my lady, but on your way here, did you happen upon a young noblewoman with golden hair and pale green eyes? Lady Vellena should have arrived by now. We need to be together when the Maker comes.”

“Ah, you must be… Lord Berand? I found this letter on a body.”

“Oh Maker... My sweet Vellena.” Berand’s voice broke. “What will I do without her at my side? What purpose is there for me?”

Gwen said gently, “My condolences to you, Lord Berand, but if you have the will, and the capability, the Inquisition may give you a purpose.”

Berand stood a little taller and looked Gwen in the eye. “Yes. What you did, closing the rift, you are truly sent by the Maker. I may not have Vellena, but I can and will gladly lend my aid to the Inquisition. I can help see that others are not victimized as she was.”

Gwen smiled and met his gaze. “Indeed, Lord Berand. We will be glad to have you join us. If you wait a short while, I may have a task for you already, if you don’t mind beginning straight away.”

“As you say, Herald. I shall await your command.” Berand saluted Gwen.

“I’ll return shortly.” Gwen saluted him. “Solas? I need you, if you don’t mind coming along for a moment. Cassandra, you and Varric can wait here and eat.”

Cassandra nodded. “You go to find the boy?”

“Among other things, yes.” Gwen said as she started down the stairs.

Solas trailed after her. “Are we to have our discussion?”

Gwen chuckled. “Not quite yet.” She moved through the courtyard to the bottom of the tower with the elven artifact and started climbing the ladder. The vibration was clearer with the rift closed.

“Then what are we—curious.” Solas sounded perplexed.

“What is?” She grunted as she reached the top of the first ladder.

_Ladders suck…_

“Hmm, that is… interesting. I too feel the magic of one of the artifacts close at hand.”

“Really? Are you positive?” Gwen would’ve sounded more sarcastic if she weren’t out of breath and climbed the second ladder to the third floor.

“I am quite positive, and, ah…” Solas looked at her, then at the artifact very plainly situated in the open.

Gwen marked down the location of a mosaic tile to be collected by other agents, then noticed Solas staring. “Are you going to activate it or not?”

Solas activated the artifact, then stalked across the small room toward Gwen, eyes narrowed to small slits as he looked down at her, hands clasped behind his back. “You felt ancient elvhen magic from a greater distance than I.”

_No, you’re not an imposing figure at all…_

She shivered due to three factors, none having to do with being cold: The change in the way the air around her felt upon activating the doohickey, the timbre of Solas’ voice, and the invasion of her personal space.

Gwen took a step back, feeling her staff scrape against the wall. “I’m not sure what you want me to say, Solas, but I think it’s time to find Hyndel.”

“Later, then, Gwen, but we will talk.”

She tucked her map away with another shiver, made for the ladder and started climbing down. Solas watched her until she climbed too low to be seen and she released the breath she’d been holding. The elf followed her as she stopped on the middle floor and walked over to the opposite tower where there was a young, blond elf toiling away inside. If Solas continued to stare at her in such a way, however, it was going to make working significantly more uncomfortable until she had other options where companions were concerned.

Gwen knocked on the edge of the open archway and the blond elf looked over at her. “Pardon me, but would you be Hyndel?”

“Yes, I am.” Hyndel smiled prettily.

“Your father informed us that your mother is in grave need of you and your potion, Hyndel.”

Hyndel’s face darkened with concern. “I can send the formula for it, but I can’t just leave here.”

Gwen looked at Solas and tilted her head toward Hyndel.

Solas gave Gwen a nearly imperceptible nod and scowled at Hyndel. “You’ve the ears of the elven people, boy, but not the soul. You would best help your family by going to them in their time of need. So be at their side and help them while you ponder mysteries, because eternity may be contemplated anywhere so long as you’ve the will for it.”

Hyndel lowered his head in shame. “I… You are right. I will gather my things.”

Gwen said gently, “Thank you, Hyndel. I will have Lord Berand accompany you to the Crossroads to ensure you reach your family safely.”

“You have my gratitude, Herald, and you, ser.” Hyndel bowed low.

“Safe journey, Hyndel.” With that, Gwen and Solas climbed down to the bottom floor again and the two of them returned in silence to the second floor of the taproom.

Varric waved them over to the table he and Cassandra found. A young woman came round with bowls of turnip stew, a plate of cheeses, and tankards of ale. Everyone tucked in, including Gwen, though she avoided the ale. She drank from her dwindling water skin instead. Sitting down just made her feet and back throb, and she knew getting up again would be rough.

What she wouldn’t give for a churro, some lemonade maybe. She was sweaty, sticky with blood from goats, templars, bandits, apostates, and of course demons. And she knew her skin bright red from the cursed sun. Perhaps it was her penance for not letting Solas do the first Astrarium puzzle, but the way he’d caressed it made her feel unclean in rather a different way. Solas, it turned out, also had his own version of puppy dog eyes, or maybe more accurately wolf pup eyes. Resisting was difficult, but she thought of the Breach, and whose little orb made it, and that strengthened her resolve. He also may have said something regarding her height, or lack thereof, and that made her more determined to exclude him.

Gwen waved to Lord Berand, who strode over to the table. Introductions were made. “So then, Lord Berand, are you willing to escort young Hyndel to his parents at the Crossroads? From there you may speak with Corporal Vale and he will put you in contact with our Commander.”

“It would be my honor, Herald of Andraste. I will do so immediately, by your leave.” Berand saluted and bowed.

It was getting to be a bit much. Gwen nodded. “Of course. The boy’s mother needs that medicine. Thank you, Lord Berand, for your aid.”

Lord Berand departed the Tower with his men and Hyndel in tow, and their party followed shortly thereafter, pleasantly full and ready for a little more walking.

They paused when they found the body of a templar was still warm to the touch. Gwen felt numb as she Cassandra asked for her help in searching through the templar’s clothing for any evidence of who he had been. There was a thick crystal phial and a letter. Phylactery and Gwen placed them carefully in her bag after Cassandra examined them. Cassandra spoke a few words of the Chant:

 

“Though all before me is shadow,

Yet shall the maker be my guide.

I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond.

For there is no darkness in the Maker’s Light

And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost.

 

I am not alone. Even

As I stumble on the path

With my eyes closed, yet I see

The Light is here.

 

Draw your last breath, my friends.

Cross the Veil and the Fade and all the stars in the sky.

Rest at the Maker’s right hand,

And be forgiven.” ǂ

 

Gwen drank some lyrium to encourage the numbness within as she set the body afire. After a moment or two of watching the body burn, and Cassandra drew Gwen away. “Come, Gwen. We should be able to make camp at the lake before sunset.”

The group ventured forth, and Gwen did her best not to think of the cloying stench of charred flesh. The general mood took a turn that threatened to remind Gwen of home, the past, and things she'd rather remained forgotten.

The party made their way back to the Crossroads, Gwen remaining quiet for the duration. She solemnly returned the stolen wedding ring to the elven woman who’d been penned in her home by a Fade rift. When they reached the Crossroads, the amount of gratitude from the locals was stifling. Cassandra, Varric, and Solas went to the lake camp, though not before wrangling a promise from Gwen that she would join them shortly. It seemed to be understood that she needed some time alone. While she didn't share her reason with anyone, there would perhaps come a day when she would tell them.

She checked on Hyndel and his family, and the lad's mother was making a swift recovery. The hunter was surrounded by refugees coming to him for goat meat, some of which was already being thrown into pots of stew, by the smell of things.

Gwen rolled the phylactery between her fingers with a frown. She despised what it represented. This whole bloody place was a mess, and for what?

She found the owner of the vile vial in a recess in the hillside, warming her hands over a smouldering brazier. She looked tired as tired as Gwen felt.

“Pardon me..." Gwen said and the older woman looked over her shoulder. "You don’t know me, but I believe this belongs to you. He is at rest now, and it seems you were meant to have this, regardless of who brought it to you.” Gwen offered the phylactery and the letter to the enchanter.

Ellendra took both without a sound and read quickly over the letter. A moment later, she looked up at Gwen, dabbing at the corners of her eyes, bright with unshed tears, a shaky smile on her lips. “I… You have my thanks. His name was Mattrin. It pains me to think he’s gone because of this damnable war.”

“You loved him.”

“Yes. We were friends long before we were lovers, and I… Oh, Maker give me strength, but I wish this would end. All this suffering, and for what?”

_I was thinking that myself._

“Indeed. You have my sympathies." Gwen said dolefully.

"What is your name, stranger, so I might include you in my prayers?"

"Gwen.”

“I am Ellendra, though you know this from the letter. I was once an enchanter of the Circle, but no more since the war began. Tell me, how did you come upon him?”

“I’m an agent of the Inquisition, just doing my duty, and my party and I found him.”

“Ah, so you are the ones making waves here. There are whispers of a mage rising in your ranks. I see you carry a staff, and wonder if you are the one they are calling…”

“They just call me Gwen.”

Ellendra narrowed her gaze at Gwen. “Are you hoping I’ll join your cause with a show of humility? You are better armed and armoured than many of the other Inquisition's people I've seen roaming around. I think you must be the mage I've heard about. I also think there are more than enough of our kind using magic for the purpose of destruction already.”

“Enchanter, if I were to ask you to consider joining us, it would be to aid in research and healing because there is always a shortage of skilled healers. If you were truly interested, I would suggest you speak with Scout Harding at the outskirts camp on that hill to the north of the Crossroads. However, I’m not asking you to join, though we wouldn’t turn you away if you wished to. Regardless, I bid you farewell, Enchanter Ellendra.” Gwen watched Ellendra clutch the letter and phylactery to her chest as she bowed at the waist, and then turned to leave.

Gwen found Recruit Whittle and learned that Ritts made good on her word and Whittle already had people scouring the locations on the map, collecting the much needed supplies for the refugees. Some had already returnedand children were the first to be bundled up.

After Gwen was satisfied as much as she could be, she hiked up to the lake camp. The others were seated around a fire with one of the recruits. Another recruit saluted Gwen as she approached. “Herald, messages from Haven await you in your tent. Your belongings were moved from the outskirts camp to this one as well, ser.”

Gwen let out a long breath. “Thank you, recruit. Which tent?”

The recruit led her to one of five. There was more space for tents in reality than the game allowed for. The recruit politely opened the tent flap for her and she smiled as she took her staff off. “My thanks.”

“A pleasure, ser. Do you require anything to eat or drink? I can bring something for you.”

“What? Oh, no. I'll come fetch something when I’m done with correspondence I suppose. Oh, erm, these are the updated maps. Would you give that back once you’ve finished copying it?”

“Of course, ser.” He saluted and left her as she walked into her tent.

There was a ~~bloody~~ small writing desk ~~made for a stick figure~~ with a candle and everything. She felt so fortunate.

_Don't complain. You could be one of those poor refugees out there._

Guilt was ever-present for Gwen, even when she knew she shouldn't feel any.

She stripped off some of her armor with a groan that came out louder than she meant it to, and it wasn’t any better when she peeled off her boots. She enjoyed letting her feet breathe as she cut open and read over letters from Cullen and Leliana. Gwen wrote responses to each with an updated report of what had been accomplished during the day. She shook her head at the fact that she was having to use ponce, blotting paper and a wax seal, but she’d seen the size of the birds Leliana was using. Those birds could probably haul a Sunday paper without difficulty.

“Gwen?” Cassandra’s voice sounded from outside her tent.

“Yes, Seeker? Come in.” Gwen looked took the letters from her desk and looked at Cassandra, crouching beneath the entry flap.

“We all wondered if you were going to eat. You’ve been very quiet since we found that templar.”

“His name was Mattrin and I returned the phylactery to the mage to whom it belonged. She may or may not join the Inquisition to aid healing efforts. I need to get these letters sent to Haven. Is there anything you needed?” Gwen rose and moved forward, and Cassandra backed out of the tent.

“As I said, we wondered if you were going to eat. You need to keep up your strength.”

“I appreciate your concern, Seeker, but I think it is clear from my figure that I am clearly not in danger of starving to death. I’d give myself a good six months before that became an issue. I will, however, be needing some fresh water. I’m thirsty and I strong drink won’t make that better. Do we have any tea?”

Cassandra scowled. “Yes, we do, but you should still have something.”

“Give it to one of the refugees. They need it, while I clearly need a wash.”

She handed the letters to the recruit she’d spoken with earlier and said, “Send these two to Haven, and hmm… Do we have a runner? I need to talk to Harding.”

“I’ll do it myself, ser. What shall I tell Scout Harding?”

“Tell her I have an idea that will require some scouts with good or better night vision.”

“Aye, ser.” The recruit bolted off quick as could be.

“Gwen? What is this idea of yours?”

“Well, Seeker, I’m thinking of cutting some time out of this trip by exploiting the need for both the apostates and templars to sleep. Some will be on watch of course, but we’ll take fewer casualties and possibly incur fewer if we use sleeping potions or powders and stealth, and the darkness as an advantage. We could make it to a move through the King’s Road at night to reach Master Dennett, and possibly take out the main templar encampment.” Gwen’s smile didn’t reach her eyes.

Cassandra gave Gwen a look of admiration. “It could work.”

“We could be that much closer to stabilizing this region and having more needed resources, as well as making the people here safer. Or it could go tits up.”

“You could also be pushing yourself too hard.”

“Am I pushing you too hard, Cassandra?”

“Not at all.” Cassandra actually harrumphed at the notion.

“Good. I’m going to clean some of the gore off myself in that nice, lovely cool water over there, then try to get my boots back on, if they’ll fit. Otherwise, I might start walking about like Solas with bandages on my feet. If I pass out, you’ll know I’m pushing myself too hard.”

Cassandra grimaced, but her lips twitched. “I will inform Varric and Solas of your plan.”

They might think she was crazy for considering a night raid. Personally, she thought she was just being efficient. She might also still be hopped up on the lyrium she drank earlier.

_Oops..._

 

Lookit me, citing sources and shit:

ǂ BioWare, Galinas, Ben, et al., _Dragon Age: The World of Thedas Volume 2._

Milwaukie, OR: Dark Horse Books, First Edition: April 2015. Print.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Night Raids w/ Scout Harding and some special guests, and if we're really lucky, BACK TO HAVEN and on to VAL ROYEAUX! Idk about you, but frankly, I'm excited about that. It's kind of ridiculous, really.
> 
> This was a long chapter, and the next portion, which is partly already written may be slightly shorter, but I thought I would leave the night raid for the next installment.
> 
> *Ch. 14 is growing and growing and growing...


	14. Let's Just Get This Over With Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apostates In the Witchwood, and an earlobe of a templar. Don't worry, you'll get it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter bloomed into several, and I'm still revising what else came of it. The next update will arrive sooner than this one did. Thanks for your patience and for reading my rubbish at all! I hope the wait was worth just this little bit anyway.
> 
> *One wee edit was done near the end for anyone who's actually read this more than once. If you did, I'm shocked. 08/15/2015

“Herald. As requested, I’ve brought eight of our best night scouts, plus three volunteer agents that arrived this afternoon.”

“Scout Harding.” Gwen nodded as she finished lacing up her boots and rose to her feet. She felt better after a bit of food, a dash of lyrium, and tea she’d iced herself. The last was going to need more practice. “Volunteers you say? Well, I won’t turn down help when it’s been offered. Let’s go meet them, and if you wouldn’t mind just calling me ‘agent’ for now, Scout Harding, I would be grateful.”

“As you like, Agent. Follow me.”

The sun dipped beneath the ramparts of Fort Connor as Harding led Gwen to one of the smaller campfires. Solas was demonstrating veilfire to the scouts while Varric observed. Cassandra was sitting in the command tent writing another report it seemed. There were three figures standing around the main campfire. One was a mage, if the staff and robes were any indication. The other two had broadswords strapped to their backs, but one was easily identified as a templar because of the armor, helm and all. The other Gwen could only see from behind for the moment, but both warriors made her feel horribly small. She wondered how Harding must feel about now.

“If I could have your attention, agents: Rion, Tamar, and Ser Walker?”

The mage answered first, “Yeah, what’dya want, Harding?” He sounded less than pleased to be there, turning toward the fire.

“Rion, this is Gwen. Another mage and agent. She’ll be fighting alongside us all tonight.”

Rion sniffed and crossed his arms. “Hope she knows one end of her staff from the other. She’s got apostate written all over her.” He tipped his chin and his cowl fell to his shoulders, revealing a face that seemed older than his voice implied.

“So the dream was true? I was kidnapped by demons being held hostage by the Formari? Maferath’s crooked mustache! However shall I remove the stains of my sin?” Gwen gasped and purposely held her staff the wrong way. She added a melodramatic lip quiver for effect, spun her staff into its upright position, then leaned on it.

That got a chuckle out of the prickly mage. “Alright, that was rude of me. We mages should be sticking together.”

Gwen gave him a polite smile. “No harm done, though I would suggest you refrain from being a git to the Seeker, Varric or Solas when you meet them.”

_Speak of the Dread Wolf…_

Solas materialized at her left, apparently finished with his lecture on veilfire and Varric just stood between Rion and Harding.

Rion swallowed loudly. “A Seeker?”

Scout Harding shook her head. “You were in the Circle, Rion. She won’t have a problem with you unless you act like a prick.”

“Shit…” Rion sounded like his doom was imminent. Cassandra stood behind him with a glimmer of mischief in her eyes as she looked at Gwen.

“Are you going to be a problem, mage?” Cassandra growled low in his ear.

“Maker!” Rion jumped about three feet in the air and Gwen tried not to laugh at the poor guy’s expense. “I’ll be right back… blighted… clean smalls…” Rion muttered as he shuffled into a tent nearby.

“Cassandra, be careful, or someone might mistake you for having a sense of humor.” Gwen shook her head with a grin.

“I have no such thing.” Cue disgusted snort. Gwen saw there was more to the woman than just a Seeker, but she would have a real opportunity to get to know her. She wondered if she had any of Varric’s smutty books on hand, but she had people to meet and raids to plan.

_Make franz later!_

Gwen turned to the next volunteer: A tall, heavily armored figure with the haft of some kind of two-handed weapon visible over one shoulder. They lifted their helm, revealing a woman smeared in cracking war paint. Cassandra was a force of nature, but this woman, was just… force. The warrior took a step toward Gwen, making her head nearly snap backward with the intensity of her stare. “Name’s Tamar,” the warrior woman grunted, thrusting a hand out.

Gwen blinked owlishly up at Tamar. “Thank you for your help, Tamar.” Her voice came out much smaller than she meant it to, though she didn’t turn down the proffered handshake. She regretted that choice a little when her bones crunched in Tamar’s grip, her eyes watering a little with the effort not to react. The warrior nodded in response and relinquished her hold on Gwen’s crushed hand and stepped back from the fire, apparently to sharpen the twin heads of her axe.

Last, but not least, there was the templar on the opposite side of the fire from Gwen.

“Ser Walker, would you mind removing your helm?” Harding said.

The templar acquiesced, revealing a scowl on a not-unattractive face. A mild tan, dark hair down to his shoulders, partly tied back. She couldn’t tell the color of his eyes from where she was standing, or for that matter why she suddenly cared, but she was digging the Tony Stark-ish facial hair. The silence stretched on between them. She was staring, she realized as heat flooded her face. Her eyes flicked toward Varric who was, Gwen noted, also staring at the templar.

Ser Walker looked coolly down at Varric, returning the dwarf’s intense gaze. Gwen peered back and forth between the two of them. The silence was beyond awkward at this point, moving into hostile it seemed.

_What in the fuckity fuck is going on?_

Gwen walked around the fire and extended her hand to the templar, choosing her old ‘greet a client’ style bravado to do so. “I apologize for my manners. It’s been a long day. We’re glad you could be here to assist us, Ser Walker.” Gwen offered a tentative smile to the man and the tension eased, for her at least.

To Gwen’s surprise, Ser Walker bowed and took her hand gently in his, brushing his lips against her fingertips. He kept his eyes locked on hers as he straightened to his full height. “I’m pleased to do my duty, Agent.”

Gwen had to stifle a giggle from the gesture, the tickle of his mustache, and that look. The breeze put her downwind of him for a moment and she resisted the urge to lean in and smell him up close.

_Oh, sunuvabitch, he smells good. Bloody templars... No right to, good Lord, no one’s eyes have a right to be blue like that, do they? That with the hair, he’s not a templar, he’s potential kryptonite! GET THEE AWAY FROM ME, SATAN! What am I thinking?_

Gwen withdrew her hand, averting her eyes from the templar as she tried to scrape herself together, but the scent of warm lyrium was still close, and she if she didn’t know better, she thought perhaps his eyes lingered.

_Not happening because you are a mage and he is a templar. Duh, stupid! Mind out of the gutter. Let’s not forget our vow too! No more getting involved, physically or otherwise! Fuck you, hormones! DENIED!_

“Right. Past time to go over the plan.” Gwen retreated to the command tent, fortifying herself against her idiocy.

Gwen and Harding bent over the map and discussed the strategy with the teams. After a few minutes, Gwen summed everything up, always skipping over looking at Ser Walker, which was not easy.

“So, Harding, you’ll go with Seeker Pentaghast, Rion, Tamar, and take five of the scouts to the templar encampment southeast of Fort Connor. My group -- Varric, Solas, Ser Walker, and the rest of the scouts -- will go north through the Crossroads and follow the Redcliffe Road west and onward into the Witchwood to oust the apostates.” Gwen looked at Cassandra and said, “Afterward each group will rendezvous at this point on the western edge of Dennet’s Farm to set up a camp. Questions? Arguments? Suggestions?”

She would have gone with Cassandra and Tamar, but Rion was apparently not the dispelling type of mage. Everything would go just fine, she was sure.

“Be vigilant about where you step and be ready to dispel any wards you come across. Stay close to your assigned scouts if you don’t see that well in the dark,” Cassandra cautioned.

After the scouts asked some questions, everyone divided into their respective groups. “Then if there is nothing else, Maker guide you.”

_And forgive me for being a bloody fraud if you’re out there, duder._

~~~~~~~~

The Crossroads was vastly different landscape today from what it had been the night before. As Gwen and her group walked through, the path lit by Gwen and Solas’ staves, and an occasional patch of torchlight, villagers called out greetings and thanks to them all. Smoke rose from chimneys in cottages boasting peat fires where Gwen could hear laughter and upbeat conversation. The soldier’s at the south end of the Crossroads were enjoying supper and various other off-duty activities, and there were on-duty guards at each exit as well as patrolling the road.

Little Nisha was staying with Hyndel’s family for the time being, as a favor to Gwen, though the family seemed happy to have the little girl in their home. Lines of refugees were receiving blankets and bowls of goat stew, Gwen figured. She started to smile thinking for just a moment that she had helped make a difference, even if it was small. The sky was full of glittering stars and the people were a little safer. Not safe enough, and she could do more. It was a start at least.

The scouts took point. Varric and Ser Walker walked just ahead of Solas and Gwen.

“So, Junior, does your brother know you’re not with Aveline?”

_Huh? Wait, what?! NOOOOOOOO! NO FUCKING WAY!_

Gwen’s eyes widened as she stared up at Ser _Walker_.

“I was wondering when you’d open your big mouth, dwarf.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Aveline is a married woman and Guard-Captain of a city state, not a nanny, and last I checked I’m a full grown man. I got myself out of the Free Marches after Knight-Captain, erm, Commander Cullen sent a missive a few months before the Conclave asking if I wanted to serve the Inquisition. I didn’t see why not, since there was no bloody Circle anymore. I didn’t want to go back to mercenary work, or Maker forbid see if my bloody brother needed any help with whatever he was up to.”

“You know he’ll be pissed, right?”

“So let him be pissed. We could have our own miniature Mage-Templar War if he wanted, but I think we both have better things to do.”

“Fair enough. Far be it from me to tell a big bad templar how to live. The beard is an adorable touch though. Too bad you’re a templar, or you might actually get somewhere with the ladies. Full grown man…pah!”

“Oi! I may be a templar, but not the kind that took flaming vows of chastity.”

“Who are you trying to impress? Little old me? Or are you saying that for the sake of the lady in our midst? You’ll have to do better than that to turn the head of the Herald of Andraste, Junior. Your technique hasn’t improved over the years.”

“Eh, what? The Herald?” Ser Walker stumbled.

Gwen closed her eyes and counted to ten.

_One…TEN!_

Her eyes snapped open, and she turned the full heat of her glare on the dwarf’s back. “Varric…” she snarled.

“Whoa, shit! Sorry, Firecracker. I thought he knew.” Varric turned his head to glance at her and raised his hands defensively, but his smirk and accompanying wink made the apology wasted breath.

Her color rose, but no longer from embarrassment, and nothing to do with her slight annoyance at the title. She was fucking pissed.

Gwen’s smile didn’t reach her eyes as she said through clenched teeth, “It’s alright. I’ll just turn you to ice and use you as a combination table and flagon cooler.”

“Practical.” Solas mused.

“I have to admit, it’s a more creative ending than I would’ve come up with.” Varric snorted.

“Oh, I like her.” Ser Walker may or may not have winked at her. It could’ve been a trick of the light as they left the light of the village behind. She flipped him off, though it was for Varric too at that point.

“Tell her about your tattoo while you’re at it, Junior. I bet she’d like that.”

The templar gave Varric a toothy grin. “Maybe she would, dwarf. So, Gwen, I’ve got a tattoo of a mabari from the Battle of Ostagar. It stands for strength.”

Gwen wanted to set all of them on fire right now. “I doubt someone of my advanced years could handle such a masculine sight,” she said flatly.

Carver scoffed. “Advanced years? You can’t be more than, what, 24?”

Her only answer was forced laughter.

“What’s so hilarious about that?” Carver scratched his head and Varric shrugged.

“No idea, Junior.”

Gwen shook her head and muttered to herself, “Twenty-four. That’s just precious.”

“Varric, how old is she?” If that was Carver’s attempt at whispering, they were done for.

“She hasn’t told me, and even if she had, I wouldn’t tell you.”

_Gwen slightly approves +1_

“Ten years and I still hate you, dwarf,” Carver grumbled.

“I’m good with that.” Varric said cheerfully.

“Maferath’s squirrelly nut sack! Can we do what we’re out here at this hour to do and get this over with, please?” Gwen waved her hands, herding everyone forward as they passed under the archway leading to Redcliffe Road. “Varric, Hold Ser _Carver_ ’s hand so he doesn’t trip and fall on his manly face while we’re in the dark.”

The templar’s chest puffed up with pride at being recognized. “Guessed that, did you? What gave it away?”

Gwen shifted gears into _full-snark-mode_. “Once upon a time, there was a girl who lived in a land called ‘Stupid’, but she was kicked out for not fitting in, and so she traveled far, far away from it, never to return.”

Varric cackled until Carver swiped the dwarf’s arm with his metal gauntleted fist. “Ow!”

Gwen reigned in the snark a mite. “I can see why you’re not a rogue, Carver, because subtlety is not your forte.”

“She is way too good for you, Junior.” Varric rubbed his arm.

Gwen was tired and irritable. “ _She_ is right here, Varric, and quite capable of making up her own mind, however at this point, she happens to be in agreement with you.”

“You did say I’m manly though…” Carver said suggestively.

“The sarcasm was so thick you should’ve drowned in it.”

“Learned how to swim those waters from my brother. Speaking of swimming and things that are we…”

“Don’t say it. Not another blighted word, templar!”

“You two are kind of adorable.”

Gwen and Carver spoke over each other.

“Shut your pie—“

“Sounds like a—

“—hole, Varric.”

“—plan to me.”

Gwen was steaming. “I will spit you on my staff and roast you like a giant ham in that armor, Ser _Walker_. I’m sure someplace in Orlais would serve the final dish and say you tasted of something other than despair.” It was an idle threat, but even Solas huffed with laughter.

“You’re a saucy one. I would taste far better than despair, though. Just so you know.”

Gwen threw her hands up in exasperation. “Oh for the love of…”

Gwen stopped mid-swear as something crawled over her skin like thousands of tiny ants, but grim and dark. The sensation was so intense she wanted to turn around, but she thought perhaps it was a ward of sorts. “Everyone stop moving.”

The group came to an abrupt halt.

“You feel it?” Solas said softly to Gwen.

“I feel a lot of things at the moment, but if you’re specifically referring to the loathsome magic creeping over my skin, then yes.”

Gwen and Carver would have to rely on the eyes of the scouts, Varric or Solas in order to traverse the Witchwood safely in the dark.

“Be on your guard,” Solas said. Then the elf leaned in and whispered in Gwen’s ear, “Do try not to set the templar on fire, Gwen.”

“Ma nuvenin, hahren,” Gwen looked at him with a tight smile, sheathing her staff and shoving her irritation away to be dealt with at a more convenient time.

Solas blinked, and grinned as he too shouldered his staff, though his eyes had that eerie catlike reflection just before the light flickered out. “Ma serannas, da’len. Shall we continue?”

“Okay, Solas, Varric, we poor humans need you to be our eyes in the dark.”

“I’ve got Junior, Gwen.” Gwen heard a soft clank and a muffled grunt in the dark followed by Varric snickering.

“I really hate you, dwarf.”

“Solas, you and I will take point. Ser Walker, you can also remove wards, so if you come across any that Solas and I miss, you know what to do. Varric, you’ve got the lead with the scouts, but try not to let the walking rust bucket fall into a hole, please? Scouts, take rear guard for now.”

The scouts slid to the back as Solas steered Gwen through the darkness with one hand on her shoulder. One moon was a sliver and the other wasn’t even visible, and clouds moved in and covered what little light there was from the sky. Gwen’s heart was in her throat as she was lead through the pitch dark woods with awful magic sliding over her skin. They stopped periodically to dispel wards on the ground, and it seemed that the closer they got to the cavern, Gwen assumed, the worse the feeling was.

The scouts were growing skittish and whispered, “This whole thing feels wrong, ser.”

Interestingly enough, Carver assumed they were talking to him, “Stop fussing. It’s probably just a big ward. I’ve felt worse in Kirkwall.”

Gwen rolled her eyes, but it did manage to settle the scouts down, so she shrugged it off.

Her skin prickled and the initial unpleasantness of the ward of warning dissipated and she sagged with relief. Solas rubbed a light circle between her shoulder blades, and it was comforting. It helped too that his hands were warm in the unnatural cold of the Witchwood. Her eyes adjusted and she could see vague shadows of the spikes of magical ice jutting from the ground. Solas helped her around a wall and she moved away from his hands, seeing the shape of the frozen pond. They began the work of untangling a web of wards as they crossed the pond and when they reached the other side, the barrier over the mouth of the apostates’ hideout had a faint glow.

Gwen gasped when Solas tugged her backward, “You almost stepped in a hole, da’len.”

She bristled at the mirth in his tone, but even so she said, “Thank you for not letting me fall and break my arse, hahren.”

The apostates had grown complacent against their opponents, littering the ground with a magical minefield rather than using their own people to defend it. It made sense, strategically. They were either very confident in their wards or the templars were weaker than she surmised and she gave the easy task to Cassandra and Harding. Not that any of this was easy.

Everyone grouped together after one last ward was removed. “Varric, after the barrier is down, follow the three of us in after we dispel whatever is in front of us. Use your sleep flasks liberally, and with all haste. I would prefer fewer deaths, but I know that may not be an option if things go wrong. I doubt the rest will fight if we take out the leader, if we can figure out which one is in charge. Everyone ready?”

Several whispered affirmatives followed.

Gwen raised her hands like she was going to clap, but she kept her hands apart, closing her eyes, digging deep from the pool of fire inside. When she opened her eyes, she turned with the pulsing heat of the fireball rolling between her palms and looked meaningfully at Carver “Templar flambé anyone?”

Carver might have been scowling or making a pouty face. Is was difficult to tell.

“No? I’ll just take down the barrier then.” She grinned, spun around and lunged forward, releasing the ball of flame with a menacing smile.

_Hadoken!_

The barrier popped like a soap bubble, and just as quietly with the remnants of her fireball flickering softly out. The scouts and Varric vanished as Carver and Solas ran in, purging and dispelling as they moved, and the sound of vials shattering began to ring out through the cavern. Gwen followed and dispelled more traps when she could.

A shout came from the rear of the cave, “Templar arseholes and Circle whores! Wake up you fucks and fight!”

Gwen spotted where the shout came from as pits of veilfire sprang to life, illuminating the cavern and a group of seven agitated apostates. Some male, some female, in various states of undress that suggested they had been up to something carnal in nature. It seemed some of the rumors about apostates and orgies around Redcliffe weren’t unfounded. Who was she to judge them for that, though, really? This was about the slaughter of innocents, not their sexual proclivities.

She picked out the leader soon enough. He was outfitted better than the others, with a finer staff and certainly didn’t look like he’d been wanting for much. He also looked a bit rumpled, but it was hard to tell in veilfire light. People died tragically to fight for mage freedom and this wanker was larking about sending people off to kill or be killed and get his jollies.

“Actually, of the two mages that aren’t here for your little party, neither has set foot in a Circle. Ever.”

“LIES.”

“Can’t defend me?” Now Carver was definitely pouting.

“I didn’t realize a grown man required defending, Ser Walker. Let it be known the templar arsehole is really more like an earlobe: dangles about uselessly for the most part unless someone stabs it with jewelry so it’ll look pretty _and_ useless, though occasionally someone sees it as an erogenous zone.”

“An earlobe?”

“Yes. Tits have a functional use in nature at least. Tell me one legitimate evolutionary use of an earlobe.” Gwen smiled placidly at Carver and the templar just looked frustrated. He was so charming, she wondered how that was possible… _lol no_

_Touché. Never come to a battle of wits unarmed!_

The apostate leader screeched, “Fucking kill them already!”

Gwen’s thoughts of further quips were brushed aside as all the apostates attacked at once in a panic. Solas raised barriers over almost everyone but Gwen, who was standing too far behind the rest of the party.

Carver charged at the group of mages with at least two fireballs coming for him. One hit and took his barrier down and she was just in time to cover him with another as the second hit and Carver drove a bloody wedge into the apostates with his “swording” skills. Gwen winced at the sight.

Two down, five to go.

The rogues were systematically taking down the apostates’ barriers as they could, and Solas was dispelling new traps as they were laid down. Meanwhile, Gwen was trying to keep Carver and the rogues covered with barriers when Solas couldn’t. She was fine being on defense.

A chill crept up through Gwen’s thick boots and she looked down; lines and whorls started forming in the ground beneath her. A little voice at the back of her mind told her to move. Without thinking, she fade-stepped past the apostates' leader. While trying to get her bearings, a muffled explosion sent her sprawling face first into the floor, and her flimsy staff broke into splinters. She tried to will a barrier over herself, but she’d just cast a new one on Carver, so it was like trying to light a used match underwater. She to twisted onto her side, panic and anger flaring as flames formed at her fingertips; Too slow, however. The madman flung his hand out, mumbling steadily as a wall of icicles erupted from the ground. Gwen wailed in agony as one massive icicle rent the flesh her left thigh, slashed across her face, and myriad others tore through her flimsy mage armor.

Warm liquid flowed over her cheek and chin, and she tasted the copper tang of blood. The sticky fluid trickled into her right eye, and more trails dripping down her neck. Gwen wiped some away, but in vain as more took its place in seconds. The rest of the room seemed to fade out until was just her and the rebel mage sharing a dance in a dark tunnel.

She and the apostate locked eyes for the span of a breath as the rebel mage pinned Gwen to the floor with the head of his staff. Gwen's breathing quickened as the staff vibrated with power, the head flaring white and cold.

Time moves strangely when you think you're about to die. That business about seeing your life pass before you, in Gwen's experience, was rubbish. Besides, she wasn't ready to kick it just yet.

Her brain and body kicked into automatic, and for a short time, it was like she was outside herself watching as she reacted. Gwen gripped and yanked the staff toward herself and off to one side, her hands burning with cold. She ignored it. Shock lit the rebel mage's face as her maneuver pulled him close enough to thrust her right heel upward into his crotch. The apostate's grip on his staff loosened as he made a noise that Gwen didn’t think a demon could even pull off. She rose to her knees screaming, her pulse pounding as she lunged forward amd speared the mage with his own staff blade. She twisted it mercilessly under his ribcage with the last of the adrenaline pumping through her veins.

“DIE!” Gwen roared.

Their dance ended when Carver’s broadsword cleaved the rebel mage’s head from his shoulders. Gwen knelt frozen in place, panting, clutching the staff tightly in her blistered hands, her arms shaking violently. Varric prodded the headless, twitching corpse of the rebel mage with the toe of one blood-spattered boot and it slid off blade, collapsing to the ground. When the staff blade hit the ground, the tinny sound echoed off the cavern walls, only slightly muffled by the waterfall babbling gently behind Gwen.

The other apostates were either kneeling in surrender, sleeping, or dead, surrounded by the scouts.

“Is everyone alright?” Varric said, lighting torches before looting commenced. Everyone answered except Gwen. Her ears were ringing and her limbs grew cold.

“Gwen?”

“Sorry…” She crumpled to the cave floor, the staff rolling out of her hands entirely.

“Shit!” There was a flurry of footsteps.

“Little fool,” Solas hissed. “Drink!” He forced a potion down her throat and she choked it down. She was direly in need of something to drink, but the foul concoction did nothing to slake her thirst. Some of the pain drained away, and she grew drowsy, though whether it was from the potion or blood loss was debatable at this point. The rest was beginning to catch up with her now that the battle was over and her adrenaline levels dropped. Everything seemed to hurt and her eyes were far too heavy to open.

“I’ll take her back to the Crossroads. She’s lost a lot of blood.”

“I’ll head to the rendezvous and let anyone who makes it there know what happened. Maker’s balls, Firecracker...”

“I shall take her, Ser Walker. I've tended to Gwen when injured before. Also, your templar abilities will be of greater aid to the scouts, so I suggest you remain with them. I also see better in the dark.”

There was a grunt of agreement. “Good points. So be it, mage. And you, dwarf, best be safe. Still hate you though.”

"I'll be just fine, little templar."

Warm breath tickled Gwen's ear after a moment. “I suppose showing you the tattoo will have to wait.”

“Insufferable arse,” was all Gwen managed to mumble before she sank into the dark recesses of the Fade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update will be a segue into a the trip to Val Royeaux, including a special Fade chat, and no it's not with who you think it is (yet) so stop. <3333


	15. The Precipice of Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fade is just weird and Gwen doesn't feel like talking about feels, then she deals with things when she wakes up. Later, we dig into the brainmeats of one Commander Cullen. Maker preserve us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'd, as always.
> 
> So this chapter could probably be three, but I'm lazy and slapping it all into one. Not entirely sure how I feel about it, but if I change it, y'all will find out.
> 
> BET YOU DIDN'T THINK I WAS GONNA UPDATE THIS SOON AFTER THE LAST ONE, DIDJA?! :P
> 
> Seriously though, thank you, once again for all comments, kudos, subscriptions, bookmarks and lurrrrrrrrrrve! <3333
> 
> P.S. Um, I was in a weird mood when I wrote some of this chapter so I apologize ahead of time.>.>
> 
> 08/30/2015: Edited this chapter significantly, especially in the latter portion.

### ~Coffee Talk with Anders~

Gwen sat hunched over a table in her favorite coffee joint, a fragrant mug of her favorite latté in one hand, and a warmed chocolate croissant (her favorite) clutched in the other. The crowd was lively, but she couldn't make sense of any of their conversations. So instead, she strained to here whatever music was playing over the loudspeakers.

_~Where are we? What the hell is going on?...~_

“OH! I love this song!” Gwen started softly singing along, oddly unselfconscious about it. Singing always made her happy.

_~Spin me round again and rub my eyes. This can’t be happening…~_

Good music, good food. Ahhh, this was bliss. A general sense of warmth and security surrounded Gwen like a cozy blanket, she smiled in contentment.

_~Blood and tears. They were here first…~_

As the next lyric of the song passed her lips, the bell above the door behind her jingled, and before it ended, a tall blond man in a manky robe with feathered pauldrons sat opposite her at her table. The next lyric of the song slid out of her mouth at the same time.

~ _Mmm, Whatcha say? Mmm that you only meant well? Well, of course you did_.~

Bliss came to a screeching halt, and the surreal nature of her surroundings hit her in full force. Gwen thought that the Fade formed itself to the desire of the dreamer, but apparently her subconscious mind was pulling double duty as an asshole.

Any semblance of a cheerful demeanor vanished from her face as her head landed with a dull _thunk_

“Why in the Void are you hurting yourself, sweetheart?”

Gwen sighed heavily with her face smooshed against the synthetic wood of the table top, mangling her words. “Oh, because I was hoping that I’d been in a wretched nightmare and that _this_ was reality. Sadly, you were the signal that the cake is a lie.”

“What isn’t a lie then?”

“I’m a monster.”

The crowd vanished, leaving only Gwen and Anders in the café, and "Shiny Happy People" started playing.

_Irony. Cute._

“Ah. You’ve never killed before now, have you?”

Gwen raised her head and stared vacantly through the dark windows of the shop. “Not people, no. I never hunted game either. I… fished and I suppose I never really considered that I was taking the life of another creature until now.” She frowned deeply, dropping her pastry on its plate and looked at her palms. There was blood on her hands, but she wasn’t sure whose.

“You did what needed to be done. You know that. It isn’t pleasant, simple, or what you want. You’re a healer. Compassion and empathy are two of your best qualities.”

“Not if I’m going to seal the Breach in the Veil.”

“Especially for fixing the Breach. Your _will_ allowed you to focus during times when your family needed you because you were the only one strong enough to cope.”

“I never wanted to be.”

“You put yourself forward as a shield for others time and again, both physically and emotionally, Gwen. You have a noble heart.”

Her eyes screwed shut, emotions running amok. Gwen consciousness danced around the one emotion that threatened to drag her down into an inescapable abyss. Despair and tears were luxuries she could not afford to give in to. Not now. Anders was only trying to remind her of that.

Still, to say her heart was noble because of her weaknesses just smacked of insincere flattery. “This is all really sweet of you to say, but I don’t buy it. That last bit sounded like a line, by the way. You might want to work on that.”

“I used to deflect with sarcasm and humor just like that before I… Before Justice.”

 _Stop trying to drag it out of me_.

“I’d say I only did what I needed to be done to stay sane, but considering where I am now, I think that didn't work out.”

“You push yourself so hard, love. You need to slow down. The world needs you too much for you to take needless risks.”

The scene melted from the coffee shop to an aquarium in front of a large jellyfish exhibit. She sipped her coffee as the Fade jellies swam in their tank. Gwen watched their hypnotic movements, doing her level best to ignore the buzzing chatter of the mage at her side, and failing.

“Are you listening at all? I’m supposed to be looking after you, and I’m doing a shit job, I know. I’m supposed to be telling you that you’re going to learn things faster than most, but you aren’t going to be great at them overnight. You’re smart, but you need to be smarter.”

Gwen checked herself for dream injuries. “Hmmm…”

“What are you trying to find?”

“Shrapnel from all the irony that just came flying my way from your mouth, Anders.”

His mouth drooped into a flat line. “Right. Rude. Good point, but rude. Where are we?” He snatched her coffee cup from her and drank some of it and smacked his lips. "Ooh, I like that."

“I’m sorry, you're right. Thing is, you chose to join with Justice. I did not choose to be yanked into a world that is considered pure fiction where I come from. To answer your question, this is an aquarium where ocean animals are cared for and displayed for the purpose of learning more about our world and conserving the living creatures in it. Not many pay heed to the lessons, however.”

“I can see why you like it here. Watching them is soothing. By the way, you did actually choose to come to Thedas, just to point out a minor error.”

The zen-like calm she’d been cultivating was dashed, and she fell into snark-stance. “Ex-squeeze me? I cunt hear you. I have an ear in-fuck-tion.”

 _Hmm, yep, I’m 12_.

Anders rolled his eyes and laughed. “Later maybe.”

“That would be a bad idea of epic magnitude, even if you weren’t just a spirit.”

Anders eyes tracked the jellies as they drifted in the tank. “Anyway, for the sake of clarification, you offered yourself up a long time ago for just this kind of sacrifice. You were willing, in spirit, to do what is necessary for others to survive, even if it meant you wouldn’t. So now you’re here. Huzzah!”

Over the years, Gwen sank to depths in her head that she didn’t often care to reflect on. During more than one of those many low moments that always she bore alone, she made silent prayers for dark things she would have given anything to see answered. In her heart of hearts, she knew those prayers would go unheard. That was life, and she'd accepted it. Now, faced with a brutal truth that her current situation was her fault, in a way, she didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or scream.

_Don’t let your mouth write a check your ass can’t cash…_

Gwen’s head fell back against the wall behind her with a _thud_ , and her eyes rolled upward to stare the ceiling, or what appeared to be a Twister mat, complete with players.

_Huh... Weird._

“So I’m right in thinking that I’m not going to make it through the final battle.”

“I never said any such thing. We can’t know for sure how things will go. You’ve thrown a lot of things out of balance just being in Thedas, but you’re fate isn’t decided. What happens is up to you, sweetheart.”

Anders stuffed the last of her chocolate croissant into his face, looking like some sort of mutant chipmunk.

“You didn’t even ask if you could have a bite of that. Plus, you drank all my coffee. Now who’s rude?” She tutted at him and the scene shifted again. They were sitting side-by-side in the front row in a _theatre-in-the-round_ and a slow grin spread on her face in recognition.

“What’s this now?” Anders jabbed her with a very sharp elbow. Gwen conceded to herself that Anders definitely needed that croissant more than she did. Maker…

“This is where I saw my first ever Broadway musical. I think it might strike a chord with you, Anders.”

“We should be focusing on your healing capabilities and getting yourself well, Gwen.”

“Anders?”

“What?”

“Shhhhh, just watch.”

Anders scowled and fidgeted as the house lights dimmed and the show began. The nice part about catching a Broadway show in the Fade was no intermission, because there was no need to run to the restroom. Anders wouldn’t have moved anyway, he was rapt after the first song. From jellyfish to jellicle cats... Gwen's mind moved in mysterious ways, but it made the perfect distraction for her spirit companion.

By the time the last song ended, Gwen actually had to forcibly drag the mage to the theatre lobby, Anders' tears of joy running rampant down his ruddy cheeks.

Gwen pulled a hanky out of one conveniently located pocket and pushed it into Anders' hands as he gushed, “That was amazing. AMAZING! I can’t believe there is musical theatre entirely about cats!”

“Based on a book of poetry about cats.”

“If it wasn’t for the issue incorporeality between us, Gwen, I’d ask you to marry me right now.” He almost looked serious.

Gwen shook her head, chuckling as they strode into the lobby, with Anders happily babbling about his obsession with felines. Signage from other theatres shone through the tall, night darkened windows. A shiver ran up her spine when they neared the doors, and something in her gut said to stay inside.

Anders tugged on her arm before she pushed the door handle. “Say, do you know that elf across the road? He’s been standing there for a bit now. I’m not sure if he can see us or not.”

“What elf?” Gwen put her face up against the glass peered across the street. The hair on her arms and the back of her neck stood up. There, beneath a flickering streetlamp stood Solas, his eyes flashed from stormy blue, to red, to the sickening green of the rifts and back again. “Shit.”

“So do you know him?”

Gwen pulled Anders away from the door and heavy curtains dropped down in front of all the windows. The relief in her voice was near palpable as she muttered, “That depends on what you mean by ‘know’, Anders.”

“Is he familiar to you? Are you friends? Enemies? Do I need to go out there and kick his spindly arse?”

She leaned her head back to look Anders in the eye. “No, I don't need your spindly arse to protect me from his spindly arse. I’m... familiar with him. Let's just say for now that it’s complicated, but for time being we are… allies. Likely he’s looking for a way to have a conversation with me that I’m not sure he’s truly prepared to have yet.”

“I don't like this one bit. Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“You’re a guardian spirit. Shouldn’t you already know?”

“No, which is why I’m asking you.”

“You are safer not knowing for the moment, though I don’t understand why you can’t see it.” That was going to bother her for a good long while. Shouldn't he be able to see her memories if he chooses? Not all spirits are the same, so they must not all possess the same skills. Still, she had to wonder...

“I wish you would tell me. I am supposed to be guarding _you_ , not the other way around.”

“Just leave it be. Better that I speak with him outside the Fade. He’s somniari, and he is essential to repairing the Breach.”

“Somniari and an elf? You’re scaring me, sweetheart. Tell me who he is.”

“Another time, Anders. I think it’s time for me to wake up.”

 

### ~The Crossroads~

 

“Ser Gwen?”

A tiny voice cracked the shell of Gwen’s slumber. “Mmppmpphh…”

“Ser Gwen! You’re awake!”

“No I’m not…” she croaked.

“Ser Gwen! It’s me! Nisha! You walloped those apotaters good! They hurt you though, and that made me mad and sad. Imma get Mother Giselle and Ser Sol!” The sound of heavy breathing and stomping followed with a quick slam of the door made Gwen pause before she said anything else.

Gwen took mental inventory of her aches and pains, and they were many. She tried opening her eyes, but something sticky was holding them shut. She couldn’t wriggle her fingers either. She probably looked half-mummified. She reached up and gingerly touched the edges of whatever was covering her face with her sore fingertips. Whatever it was, it stank to high heaven.

_No, the Golden City. Wait no, the Black City. Ugh, whatever. Stupid Thedas…_

A few moments later, there was a swish of cloth drifting through the door as it creaked open.

“Herald of Andraste, we are gladdened to see you awake. You ran yourself ragged, but you accomplished much and all of us here are grateful for all you’ve done. Here. Drink.” Her head was lifted and the rim of a cup was placed against her lips. She drank and it was plain water. But it was one of those moments in life when “plain water” never tasted so sweet. She started to drink more greedily, but the cup was pulled away, and Gwen whimpered, much to her everlasting shame.

“Careful. You must take things a little more slowly, Herald,” Mother Giselle chided gently.

Gwen sensed a theme developing.

Her voice was rough as she said, “I didn’t do it alone, and there is still work to be done. Where are my companions? Is everyone alright?”

“Everyone is well, Gwen, barring yourself.” Solas’ voice sent a chill down her spine with the memory of him in the Fade clear as glass. She vaguely recalled him sounding angry before she passed out.

“At least no one else was injured. Who do I have to thank for the healing I received for my recklessness?”

Solas sounded somewhat mollified by her admission, sincere or not. “You are not yet fully healed, Gwen. Enchanter Ellendra, Mother Giselle, and a few others did fine work, with my aid of course, but the skin is still fragile. There will be scars, I fear. The poultices and bandages will remain in place until you’ve had more time to recover.”

Well, that explained the _fascinating_ odor wafting up her nostrils, or maybe that was a combination of her “I’ve-not-bathed-in-days-funk” **_and_** the poultices.

_Ugh… Like Tiger Balm, potpourri, B.O., and something ungodly…like sulfur. Dude, you put drakestone in my poultice? I will never get the stink out._

“I will leave the two of you to speak. The wagon is nearly ready.” Another swish of robes and a door was latched.

“How long was I out, Solas?” Her nose wrinkled.

“A few hours. I attempted to reach you in the Fade, but your defenses were fully raised. I could not communicate with you there. Perhaps someday.”

Well, he admitted it at least, sort of, but it didn’t make it any less creepy. It was like a two way mirror. Spooky.

“Solas, will you help get these things off my eyes? I’m sure I’ll be fine. We still need to talk to Dennet and I can’t languish in bed all day.” She also didn’t like not being able to see his expression. Not that he didn’t have one hell of a poker face…

“Cassandra anticipated that you would still wish to speak with the Horsemaster regardless of your condition at first light, so she took initiative on your behalf.”

“Not my behalf. The Inquisition’s behalf. Would you at least help me get out of this bed to get dressed?”

“I would, but your armor is in tatters, and you are wearing very little at the moment, aside from a blanket for your modesty. Your staff was destroyed as well, though the rebel mage who led the apostates had a weapon that will make a fine replacement for you. At least when you are well enough to join the fight once more.”

“There must be something I can wear around here...”

“Mother Giselle found the robes of a Chantry lay sister that will fit you, but insisted she help you dress. As if I haven’t already seen--" He paused a moment and hummed. "Well, that is neither here nor there. I believe you will also be joining Mother Giselle in the wagon for most of the return journey to Haven. You will be unable to ride with your leg in its current condition for several days yet. The wound was deep.”

_Haven’t already seen… OMFG SOLAS YOU DALISHHUMPING SON OF A NUG! Totally ignore the injury part and think about the fact that the fucking creeper hobo saw you buck-ass nekkid!_

Gwen was mortified that Solas had seen _her_ while she was unconscious. She thought Rosalee was the only one who had bathed her. Apparently she was wrong.

Meanwhile, Solas prattled on during Gwen’s inner crisis, “Dennet offered his services so long as we could provide certain assurances.”

_Focus on dumb stuff instead of wanting to set the floundering elf god on fire…_

“What assurances did he ask for specifically?” As if she didn’t know.

“Master Dennet’s wife, Elaina, mentioned the wolves of the area acting strangely, and I surmised after one encounter that the pack might be possessed by a demon. Cassandra took Ser Walker, Rion, and Tamar to handle the wolf den.”

“And then?” Unfortunately, she was dependent on hearing this from someone since she couldn’t skim over a report. Yay bandages!

“Dennet’s foreman, Bron, said that the farmers and the farmland itself would be more defensible from outlaws and the like if small guard towers were built. Master Dennet said he would then provide weapons and more to capable refugees who took watch at said towers. Varric and Corporal Vale sent word to Commander Cullen of the need for the towers. Volunteers from among the refugees began gathering building materials already.”

“And the~n?”

Solas sounded bemused, but continued. “Inquisition soldiers are clearing the King’s Road of stragglers, though there are few after last night. Some will be marched back to Haven with our caravan having offered themselves up for judgement. Cassandra agreed, thinking you would have done the same.”

“And theeee~n?”

_AND NO AND THEN!_

Solas sounded flustered now. “We discovered three more rifts and have posted guards to warn people away near them until such time as you can return to close them.”

Gwen grumbled. “We leave for Haven when the party returns, I take it?”

“Indeed.”

“Fine. I would like to get dressed. Please find Mother Giselle if you would be so kind, Solas.”

“I will bring Mother Giselle to assist you, Herald.”

“I didn’t think we were on such formal terms, Solas, given that you’ve seen me naked as my name day.” She needed confirmation before she would let loose on him.

The door creaked open. “I have not, Gwen. I have seen other humans in that state, both in and out of the Fade. If I am to be honest, you all look the same to me.” With that, the door slammed shut.

 _Well, shit_.

 

### ~Five Days Later~

 

Cullen liked results. Thus far, the Herald excelled as an agent of the Inquisition at providing _solid_ results. The more Cullen read of the Herald’s actions, the more he grew to admire her. Ravens arrived two, sometimes three times a day, bearing news of their successes in the Hinterlands, thanks to the Herald. Even Cassandra offered a glowing report of the Herald’s night raiding strategy on the King’s Road. With the leaders of both factions gone, any remaining rogue templars and apostates scattered to the winds, and were easily swept up by Inquisition soldiers.

The state of the Inquisition itself was growing more rapidly than anticipated. At the rate the Herald alone was going, it would be a terrible crush in Haven within a few months. Pilgrims were turning up to volunteer on a daily basis, and according to Cassandra’s report, more still would arrive with their caravan. Cullen would have to discuss seeking other viable headquarters for an expanding force with the advisory council, and soon. Haven wasn’t meant for its current circumstance, and it would hardly meet their future needs in that regard. He found himself impressed, truth be told, though if their numbers continued swelling at their current pace, Haven would soon be overrun.

Cullen lifted some reports from his desk written in the Herald’s careless hand and studied her rough sketches of items found in her travels. Sometimes she included a caricature of Cassandra, Varric, or Solas from some moment etched in her memory from the day. One such drawing, labeled "Ser Walker," featured a templar body with the head of a slavering mabari hound, and the sight made him laugh aloud. The Herald’s accounts were certainly more colorful than Cassandra’s, and he found he rather looked forward to reading the Herald’s version of events.

The Herald and her party were due to arrive in Haven sometime today, according to the last missive he’d received, and Cullen anxiously awaited her…their return. Varric wrote informing Cullen how the Herald endangered herself yet again in the Hinterlands during the raid on the apostates lair, reporting, "Firecracker was damn lucky all she got were scars as souvenirs." He worried that she risked herself far too often, and they could not afford to lose her.

Guilt assailed Cullen at the memory of his behavior toward the Herald the day they met, when she was guilty in the eyes of all, and the worst kind of villain. Cullen was furious at the time, thinking he’d lost so many able soldiers in exchange for a despicable girl who looked like she hadn't the strength of will to lift an empty teakettle. His fury grew, but turned inward, after she tried to seal the Breach upon discovering the true extent of her injuries at the time. He and Cassandra found themselves on the receiving end of a scathing rebuke from the apostate, Solas, who informed them that the Herald had so been lethally low on mana when she'd been in the cells that it was a miracle she'd been able to walk out of the Chantry, let alone try to seal the Breach. Knowing that made him feel like an utter wretch.

The girl was vilified from the moment she fell out of the Fade, and he’d been unduly harsh with her - frightened and weak as she must have been - and he despised himself for it. Making any sort of excuse for his abominable behavior was unworthy.

He’d been honest when he said he stood guard over her in case she woke only to become an abomination, though that was far from his only reason. Still, Cullen shuddered to think of the consequences for Thedas if that had proved to be the case. The thought was not to be borne. In any case, he owed her a sincere apology at the very least. It may not be enough, but regardless, he would do his utmost to make amends.

“Commander Cullen, m’lord!” Rosalee skidded to a halt in front of his open tent.

Cullen focused on the elf, his reverie broken. “I’m not…” He sighed. “What is it, Rosalee?” He was reminded of his youngest sister whenever he spoke to Rosalee, which served to fan the flames of his guilt over his poor record in correspondence with his family. He excelled at feeling guilt, of late.

“A fight, in front of the Chantry, m’lord Commander ser! The mages and templars is at it!”

Cullen scowled darkly. “Get to your cabin and stay there until it’s safe to come out, Rosalee.”

“Yes m’lord Commander ser!” Rosalee sprinted off.

Cullen left his tent and ran to the Chantry, wading into the angry rabble gathering outside.

“Your kind killed the Most Holy!” One of the templars snarled at a mage.

The mage stepped back. “Utter lies! Your kind let her die!”

“Shut your mouth, robe-filth!” The templar spat, reaching for the hilt of his sword.

Cullen gritted his teeth and cut between them. He gripped the mage by his robes and the templar by his gorget, shoving them forcefully apart. “ENOUGH!

“Knight-Captain!?” The templar stumbled back further, shaken.

“That is no longer my title!” Cullen barked.

“But, ser, the mage…”

“We are no longer templars under the Chantry! We are _ALL_ part of the Inquisition.”

A familiar, patronizing voice cut through the din, “And what precisely does that mean, Commander?”

Cullen’s face darkened.

 _This day is improving by leaps and bounds_.

He turned to Roderick wearing a tight smile. “Chancellor Roderick. Back so soon? You’ve been so busy, one would think you’d already done more than enough.”

Roderick’s chin rose and he took an imperious tone, “I’m curious, Commander. How is your Inquisition and its so-called Herald going to restore the order you promised?”

“In small steps. If you’d been cooperative rather than antagonistic, you might be aware of the outstanding work the Herald has already accomplished in attempting to stabilize the Hinterlands of Ferelden.”

“I fail to see how that is an accomplishment of any merit,” Roderick sniffed dismissively, buffing his fingernails on his expensive tunic.

“Of course you do.” Cullen sneered. He looked at the crowd, still gathered about leering and bellowed, “Back to your duties! All of you!”

Amid all the clamor, he'd missed the sound of the horn announcing an arriving party. As the crowd scattered, Cullen was simultaneously pleased and horrified when he saw an exhausted Herald standing just behind the Chancellor, ironically in Chantry garb. One of her fresh scars, deep and angry, crossed from above her right eye down to the left side of her jaw. The sight of it gave him a mighty urge to gather her up, put her to bed, and lock her away from harm. He’d already taken two steps forward when he regained control of his senses. The amount of effort it required him to cease moving toward her troubled him more than he cared to admit to himself.

 _What in the Void has come over me_?

“I’ll be sure to let the refugees and other faithful in that area know how much you care about their welfare, Chancellor, along with a reminder that not every member of the Chantry clergy is the same.”

Cullen's mouth twitched up into a smile at the fleeting look of shame that passed over Roderick’s sour face, impressed with the Herald's subtle maneuver.

Warmth crept into Cullen's voice as he greeted her, “Lady Herald." He bowed. "Welcome back, though I am sorry that you returned to this havoc.”

“Thank you for the welcome and your concern, Commander, and don't worry. I’ve faith that in time the children will learn to play nicely with one another under your watchful eye.” The Herald returned his smile, and his heart grew lighter.

Roderick cleared his throat multiple times and no immediate response was given.

Cullen hadn't realized he'd been silently staring at her until her lips began to move. “Oh, are you still here, Chancellor? I apologize," The Herald said, adopting the Chancellor's brand of condescension. "Are you here to speak with Mother Giselle now that she’s arrived? She’s rather intent on seeing to the injured at the moment, though I’m sure she would make time to speak with an important man such as yourself.”

Cullen chewed on his lips, willing them downward. It didn’t last.

 _Maker have mercy. Her cheek will be the death of me_.

“Mother Giselle is here?” Roderick looked rather like a frightened fennec.

“I believe she is having a word with Sister Leliana.” The Herald nodded toward Leliana’s tent, where the Spymaster was indeed speaking with a Revered Mother.

“That is not why I am here. Mock me as you wish, wearing those stolen Chantry robes like the heretic you are. You're opinion means nothing to me. As for you, Commander, I still demand answers.”

Cullen laughed in disbelief. “You _demand_? Our mages and templars are blaming each other for the death of the Most Holy, which has no doubt inspired a renewed interest in their warring all over Thedas. In the meantime, the Breach remains open. Problems are not solved by sitting idly by, which the Inquisition has not been guilty of. Someone _has_ to do something."

“Have you no respect for the proper authority?”

“If the proper authority includes yourself and other random clerics who weren’t deemed important enough to attend the conclave and should also be thanking the Maker they yet live, then no. You and others like you would have the rest of Thedas hold their breath and pray for life take a recess so that the 'proper authority' can make a blighted decision about who should be the one to make decisions. If we did things your way, we may very well be too late to save anything at all.”

“And your rebellious Inquisition and this filthy creature you call the Herald of Andraste is the proper solution? You think yourselves the saviors of all Thedas? I think not.” Roderick scoffed.

The Herald spoke softly, forcing him and Roderick to step closer. “When there was a chance to work together, you stormed off in a huff and refused. While I respect your position, Chancellor, even though I disagree with it, I remind you that you chose your path, as must we all.”

“Andraste will be our guide, not some brazen, lunatic wanderer on a mountainside,” The Chancellor said dismissively.

Cullen’s desire to strike the Chancellor rose ten-fold, but he restrained himself, silently applauding the Herald for not sinking to Roderick’s pitiful level.

The Herald shoulders drooped, and she sighed in resignation. “Oh, I see, you must mean me. I’m sure you feel a little heretical just standing in our midst, especially with me in _stolen_ clothes. I see now it would have been much more appropriate to return to Haven nude."

The Chancellor’s face turned beet red and grew darker by the second.

"I must say, Chancellor, you’re looking a bit peaky. Please feel free to avail yourself of Haven's amenities and let the cook know that the lunatic wanderer sent you because you looked like you were in need of something in your gut. If you need someplace to rest, we would be happy to provide that as well, as we have plenty of room for those who support our cause.”

Cullen smirked.

The Chancellor's mouth opened, ready to reply, but the Herald cut him off. “Oh, and one last thing, Chancellor Roderick.” The Herald pulled a folded, smelly hide tied with rough twine from an over-sized pack draped over her shoulder, presenting it to Chancellor Roderick with a flourish. “Please accept this donation for the Chantry, offered in good faith from the pious refugees of the Hinterlands. High quality goat hide, don’t you know?” Her lips curved in a beatific smile.

Roderick was visibly disarmed, no doubt searching for an insult where none could be found. Looking a little dazed, the Chancellor, now holding a ripe smelling goat hide to his chest, turned away from them to wander over the mountainside, presumably.

Cullen raised an eyebrow at the Herald, bemused. “A goat hide?”

_Don't think about that day. Don't..._

“Someone has to goat him on, don’t you think? May as well be the supreme grand Heretic of Thedas, and no I don’t mean the Black Divine.” The Herald’s eyes glittered wickedly.

He covered his face with his hands and he laughed helplessly for a few moments. “I would give him the boot, but the old man is toothless.”

The Herald sighed. “Aye, but not so toothless that he didn’t do damage. What’s done is done. We shall overcome, however, yes?”

“You seem determined enough for us all, Herald.”

Her smile wilted briefly. “Any news from Val Royeaux?”

“I believe Sister Leliana has heard from most of the clerics Mother Giselle informed her about. We are awaiting a few more and one positive answer to a request for a meeting. We won’t send anyone aside from scouts and messengers before we know they're prepared to meet with a representative of the Inquisition.”

“I hope it won’t take overlong.”

“Either way, Herald, you should rest yourself, have a bath. You’ve earned it.”

“I have to give a few things to deliver to Minaeve first. And wait, are you saying I smell, Commander?” One eyebrow arched high as she looked up at him.

Cullen panicked and the words tumbled out of his mouth, “Maker, no! I just thought after all that travel that you would want to relax for a moment and…” He noticed the devious twinkle in her eyes and he relaxed, smiling ruefully. “It would seem I need to be on my guard around you at all times, Herald.”

“Maferath’s skidmarked smalls, Commander, I wish you would acknowledge that my name isn’t Herald,” she huffed.

Cullen blinked at her, shocked, and far more amused by her irreverence than he should be by half. “I-I don’t think I’ve heard that one before.”

“Yes, well, I try not to use my wicked mouth in polite company.” She gave him an impudent grin.

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, and his ears grew terrifically warm. “I, er… Still a lot of work ahead...”

_Smoothly handled, Rutherford. Maker... Now would be the perfect time to apologize to her, before she’s relaxed and had a bath._

Then thoughts of the Herald having a bath flitted through his mind, aided in no small part by his memory of what he'd seen of her - _without meaning to_ \- the day she woke. His imagination dove into a vivid, yet brief, depiction of himself tending to her wounds. He was ashamed of his thoughts of the Herald. He barely knew this woman, but he was already growing to respect her, and these lurid thoughts of his were far from respectful.

 _Go throw yourself in the frozen lake, Rutherford, you great git_.

Cullen began mentally reciting the Canticle of Transfigurations for sins he'd not committed when a recruit holding a slate walked hurriedly to his side. The recruit saluted with his free hand. “Commander.”

“Yes, Jim was it?” One of the newer recruits. Cullen remembered this lad for his enthusiasm, if not his skill. He seemed very dedicated to the cause and his focus was laudable.

“Yes, Commander. I have Ser Rylen’s report on our supply lines, as requested.”

“Ah. Thank you.” Cullen took the report and Jim hustled away. When he glanced back over his shoulder to where he'd expected the Herald to be, he saw her retreating form disappearing into the Chantry instead, and his heart sank inexplicably. Cullen told himself he would make the time to speak with her after the council meeting that evening, because Maker knew when he'd next have a chance to make amends for his treatment of her. And, Maker willing, he could could purge his inappropriate thoughts by then as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time:  
> "I'm On A Boat"
> 
> It's gonna be a big update, kids. *rubs hands together evilly*
> 
> Speaking of evil: come find me on tumblr if you want to chat, ask questions about the fic, or nag me about updating like eisen does. evillyte.tumblr.com
> 
> Minor update in the notes as of 06/26/2015: There will be an interim chapter prior to Val Royeaux for reasons that I just couldn't ignore in regards to character building and the story as a whole. That said, the actual Val Royeaux bit just needs to be revised.


	16. Strange Days Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen learns that things may be more skewed than she thought, and doesn't get the bath she wants just yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE! Yeah I know, it's a short update (and not a very exciting one, sorry.) Much shorter update than I meant to post, but I wanted to give you all something at least *cough* Eisen *cough* until I finish the next part. The VR business is coming together, but I want it to be good (or mediocre at least, but preferably good-ish) before I post it. Sometimes when you write, you realize as you go that there needs to be a little more of something here and there, and that has definitely happened since I started working on this part ages ago.
> 
> One suggestion as well: I've edited a few chapters here and there since I posted last, but most notably, Ch. 15 saw a great many changes, so I recommend maybe re-reading Ch. 15 before reading this one. My thanks, dear friends!
> 
> So, I apologize for the wait. I hope this will tide you over until the next installment.
> 
> Not beta'd.

Finished with her business in the Chantry for the time being, Gwen had one thing on her mind: to immerse herself in boiling hot, soapy water. She’d daydreamed of showers and baths for days, but as showers were sadly lacking in Thedas from what she’d seen, she would settle for a tepid hip bath. Almost anything was a step up from the frigid water at the Hinterlands lake camp, or supremely awkward Thedosian-style sponge baths she’d received at the hands of Mother Giselle during the return trip.

It wasn’t so much what the Revered Mother was doing as the conversations the woman tried to hold with Gwen while washing her face and Gwen couldn’t avoid the Revered Mother’s penetrating gaze. Mother Giselle tried to coach Gwen about how she should approach the clerics in Val Royeaux once they agreed to see her. The priest also subtly inquired about Gwen’s family, beliefs, her strange accent, and what she remembered from the day she’d dropped out of the Fade. Gwen managed to fend her off with vagaries for the time being, and she thought that Leliana would certainly appreciate the Revered Mother’s style.

Speaking of the flame-haired spymaster, Leliana caught Gwen’s eye as she exited the Chantry, beckoning her over. Gwen approached Leliana with trepidation on seeing the look of worry on the former bard’s normally well-schooled features.

“Sister Leliana.” Gwen nodded in greeting.

There was an undercurrent of urgency in Leliana’s voice as she spoke, “Agent Harwood, I’m pleased to see you are well. I know you’ve only just returned, and I’m sure you wish to rest, but there is something you need to know first.” She paused, furrowed brows deepening. “I’ve received word of the squadron that went missing in the mountain pass near the temple… the ruins the day the Breach appeared.”

Gwen’s heart fell. “I take it the news is not what you hoped for.”

_The pass… Shit. I should’ve known. I could’ve done something before running off to the Hinterlands. The rift in the pass was always there and you missed it because you are fat, weak, and a coward._

“I…yes. My scout sighted demons and the like in the vicinity and barely managed to escape undetected.”

Lifting her head, Gwen sighed and said quietly, “I must have missed a rift that day.”

“It seems likely, yes. A snowstorm began not long after you tried to seal the Breach. It made recovery of remains in the area next to impossible. The storm finally abated long enough for a scout to get through two days ago.”

“Did your scout mention any more details?”

“Only that the whole area gave him the, um, willies, he said.” Then she smiled, with a faraway look in her eyes. “You know, I recall King Alistair saying funny little things like that during the Fifth Blight.”

A hot streak of joy burst inside Gwen at hearing about Alistair’s fate. Her expression could be mistaken for awe in the fact that Leliana knew a hero and a king, which wasn’t necessarily too far from the truth.

_Thank the Maker and whoever else is listening without malevolent intent… MY ALIBEAR IS SAFE AND ALIVE AND NOT A DRUNKO and I hope he’s happy and married and maybe adopted a gazillion babies… GET A HOLD OF YOURSELF WOMAN!_

Gwen smoothed her tunic. “You knew the King of Ferelden?”

_Teeheeeeeeee…_

“Oh yes. I was great friends with the King, though he wasn’t a king at the time, of course. I was also very… close to the Hero of Ferelden. We built a strong bond in those dark times.”

_You had to be vague about the Warden, didn’t you?_

“The Hero of Ferelden too? You have quite a lot of friends, Sister.”

Leliana’s smile vanished. “I did know him. The Hero, he… It is not well known, but he died saving the Arling of Amaranthine from a darkspawn incursion just after the Blight. There are whispers he may yet still live, though I lost hope of that long ago.”

“I apologize for prying, Sister, and you have my sincere condolences, for what they’re worth.”

“Don’t worry, Herald. My friend is at peace at the Maker’s side. You remind me of Alim in many ways, and not just because you’re a mage. I just see the same, mmm, strength in you.” Leliana smiled sadly.

Gwen cleared her throat, not knowing quite what to say. Luckily, she didn’t have to speak at all. Leliana swiftly regained her composure, the mask of spymistress back in place. “You will need something sturdier for taking on demons than those Chantry rags, no?”

Gwen looked down at her dirty, borrowed outfit and wrinkled her nose. “I think you’re right. Know where I can get a temporary replacement?”

Leliana nodded. “Of course. The quartermaster has a scout uniform or two in her possession. Just ask Threnn in the next tent over.”

“Thanks. I’ll do that. Do Cassan--”

Leliana cut her off. “I’ve already sent a runner for Cassandra, Solas, and Varric to prepare, and you should have time for a quick wash before you go. I sent word for Rosalee to have a bath ready for you.”

Gwen smiled and bowed her head in gratitude. “Thank you. You have no idea how much that means to me.”

Leliana laughed gently. “Oh, after a spending year or so trudging through the mud and muck of Ferelden covered in blood and Maker knew what from all manner of things in the company of, well, some interesting people? Believe me, Herald, I am intimately acquainted with your level of gratitude. Go on, now.”

Gwen waved to Leliana went in search of Threnn.

The outspoken and ill-mannered quartermaster was red-faced, railing away at some poor sod who was either laughing or weeping. Gwen couldn’t quite tell.

Threnn prodded the runner’s chest without mercy. “You tell that wanker Seggrit that he can forget about getting any free rations at those bloody prices.”

“Word for _word_ , Mistress Threnn.” The runner took off snickering, answering Gwen’s question.

Gwen approached the quartermaster, who was now muttering angrily to herself. She was about to announce herself when it seemed Threnn sensed her presence and set her hard gaze on Gwen, and sighing wearily. “I ain’t got nuffink for you Chantry lot right now. I told two other lay-sisters the same flaming shite in the last hour. I can only stretch resources so far.”

_Hahahahaa oh she thinks I’m with the Chantry. That’s fucking adorable._

Gwen propped her staff up on icy ground and tapped it meaningfully. “Oh, I’m not really with the Chantry, but I’m sure you knew that somehow.”

The quartermaster’s face grew pinched. “Oh... You must be one of them volunteer apostates from the Hinterlands. You’ll be wanting to see Commander Cullen then.”

“I am not. _Those_ apostates are currently being detained under templar guard in the cells, as they’ve yet to officially volunteer. I’m an agent just returned this morning with their party. That said, Sister Leliana mentioned you have scout uniforms and that I could acquire one from you.” Gwen preferred to accomplish things without whipping out her magical calling card of doom or dropping the _H-word_.

“Did she now? What happened to your first uniform, recruit?”

The muscles in Gwen’s jaw clenched painfully as her ire rose, along with the warm tingle of magic pulsing gently at her fingertips.

_Don’t lose your temper, woman. Breathe._

Gwen filled her lungs and slowly exhaled before she replied, “My armor was torn to unusable shreds while fighting the aforementioned apostates. Please, Mistress Threnn, I have urgent business to attend to, and I need of one of those uniforms as soon as possible.”

Threnn folded her arms and looked down her crooked nose at Gwen. “Oh, I’ve got business too. In the latrines. Come back with a signed request form like everyone else and you’ll get your gear. Till then, your _urgent_ business’ll have to wait.”

_I said please and everything._

Gwen was about to tell Threnn to find some dip to go with the salty chip on her shoulder when Leliana spoke up behind her, “Threnn, the Herald needs that gear right now. Consider my words your consent.” That soft Orlesian lilt bore a dangerous edge that no intelligent person ignored.

“Sister Leliana, what… The Herald? Where--” Threnn looked like she’d swallowed a barrel of pickled herring. “Are you… You’re, oh… Oh, Maker. Why didn’t you say? Oh bollocks…” Chagrin was etched in every line of the quartermaster’s face as she did a quick about-face, digging a wrapped bundle out of a large crate. “Err, please accept this uniform with my most sincere apology, my Lady Herald. It’s the best one I’ve got on hand, I swear.”

Threnn held the bundle out to Gwen with her head lowered, and Gwen removed it gently from the quartermaster’s hands. “Thank you. I know you’re just doing your job as best you can, Mistress Threnn. I appreciate the loan of the uniform.”

Gwen saw a small smile on the woman’s face, but didn’t wait for a reply. She had a bath awaiting her and a rift to seal.

\-----

A basin of hot water was waiting for her in her cabin, and it would have to be enough. She had yet to see Rosalee, but she was sure she’d see her friend later. Gwen scrubbed the bits she could, then changed into the Inquisition issue uniform. She liked the shapelessness of the thing, even if the colors were bloody awful, in her opinion. One good thing was that this uniform would offer her further more anonymity among the many recruits, and she liked that a lot. Gwen didn’t use the left glove, though, since it would be ruined when she sealed the rift in the pass. She didn’t have a brace for her knee anymore either, though her staff holster and pack were salvaged and usable.

At least she didn’t have to wear one of those hideous flaming eyeball helms.

Gwen stepped out of her cabin, looking at her feet and checking out her boots when she bumped into a metal wall that said, “Oof.”

She took a step back and rubbed her nose, apologizing to a breastplate. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t paying attention and…”

“It’s alright. At least you stopped to speak to me. I’ve been trying to get someone to do just that for the last hour.”

Her eyes rolled slowly upward and her breath caught in her throat for a second. Gwen willed herself to speak, “Well perhaps I can be of assistance? What’s your name, soldier?”

He stood at attention. “Cremisius Aclassi with the Bull’s Chargers mercenary company, messere.” He finished with a crisp salute.

_Oh, Krem, you magnificent, beautiful bastard. Those eyes, dem freckles. CINNAMON ROOOOOOOLLLLL omg STAHP!_

Her mind filled with memories of ridiculous memes, but at the moment, the most prominent involved glomping poor Krem and screeching, “LET ME LOVE YOU!”

Gwen managed to restrained herself with great effort. “Pleased to meet you, messere. I’m Agent Harwood of the Inquisition.” She inclined her head and saluted as well.

Krem doffed a nod. “Likewise, Agent.”

She was doing her utmost to hide her excitement, noting that the reality of Krem was far more striking than the game. _FOCUS GWEN!_ “Sooo~ I gather you’re here for something other than my witty conversation.”

“Ah, uh, yes,” Krem said with a shy smile. “We, the company that is, got word of some Tevinter mercenaries gathering on the Storm Coast. Slavers, like as not. My company commander, The Iron Bull, offers this information to the Inquisition free of charge. If you’re interested, meet us there and watch us work.” The bashfulness was gone, replaced by an attractive amount of swagger.

Then something occurred to her… Gwen hadn’t been to Val Royeaux yet. How was Krem here already?

 _Bollocks…_ _How much is everything going to change? First the damned pass in the mountains, then the news about the Hero of Ferelden, and now this?_

“So, er, why us? Why the Inquisition?”

“Most of the time, the Charger’s work out of Orlais and Nevarra. We were on a job on the Orlesian side of the border at the northern tip of the Frostbacks, a bit near Jader when the sky did… that.” Krem pointed up at the Breach. “News travels fast among folk on the roads, especially if you’re listening for it. No shortage of people whispering about your Herald of Andraste and the Chantry’s disavowal of the Inquisition. Made my commander curious.”

Gwen looked down at her feet again as she dug her toe into the cold, packed earth. “So he’s risking his reputation, and that of his company on us out of sheer curiosity?”

“Captain said he wanted to see what was going on, and the company agreed. You hear a lot of talk along the Imperial Road, like I said. Word of the Inquisition’s efforts in the Hinterlands reached Jader a couple days ago, so the captain sent me to see what the Inquisition was about and invite you to see us in action.”

_Seems Speaker Anais and her folk have already been busy._

“And your captain also sent you to see if we were evil, religious zealots or a pocket of people trying to stem the tide of Chaos, is that it?”

Krem’s cheeks darkened a little. “Something like that, but his offer is sincere. Captain says he thinks you’re doing good work, so he wants to work with you.”

“All right, Messere Aclassi. Walk with me and I’ll set you up to talk with our Commander Cullen about the specifics. The Inquisition’s advisory council is meeting later, so they’ll probably discuss it then.”

Fortunately, the Commander was at his usual position having a discussion with Leliana and Scout Harding when Gwen walked up with Krem.

Gwen nodded in greeting. “Sister Leliana, Commander, and Scout Harding, may I present Cremisius Aclassi of the Bull’s Chargers mercenary company? He’s here with information for the Inquisition about some business that may concern us on the Storm Coast.”

Greetings were exchanged, and Gwen noticed a little extra spark between Krem and Harding, trying her best to keep a straight face.

After chatting a few minutes, Krem pulled out a map and started poring over it with the Commander and Harding looking on.

Gwen turned to speak to Leliana, “Are they ready, Sister? I’d like to get up the mountain and handle that rift before dark.”

“Yes, Herald. They await you by the stables.”

Gwen saw the trio by the stables chatting amiably. “Ah, so they are. Well, Messere Aclassi, I look forward to meeting the rest of your company, and the Iron Bull. Safe journey to you.”

Krem looked up from the map, a little stunned as Gwen took her leave, but recovered admirably enough when the Commander engaged him in further conversation, but she did hear, “That’s the Herald of Andraste? I thought she’d be taller.”

Gwen stifled a laugh as she walked over to her companions.

“Who was that young man, Gwen?” Cassandra sniffed, eyes narrowed in suspicion at Krem’s back.

“A merc with some information for the Inquisition. His captain extended an invitation to observe their people in action, rather than just expecting us to rely on references alone. I think we’ll be riding for the Storm Coast tomorrow to meet with the rest of the company.”

“ _We_? How do you expect to ride? You aren’t fully healed yet and couldn’t sit a horse for a decent length of time.”

To Cassandra, decent usually meant until the point of falling out of one’s saddle from sheer exhaustion.

“We as in the Inquisition, not just the four of us. If they do choose to send us, meaning myself and the three of you, there are more healers here in Haven than we had in the Hinterlands and potions I can drink to stifle pain. Either way, we need more skilled help. Recruits are all well and good, but we would benefit from the presence of more veterans in our ranks, don’t you think?”

“She’s right, Seeker, and with most of the world against us, we’d be fools to turn down the possibility of allies, paid for with coin or not.”

Cassandra grumbled in grudging agreement. “This will go through the advisors first. A joint decision.”

Gwen rolled her eyes. “Naturally,” Her head whipped around and she eyed Varric and Solas, “And what are you two looking at?” She’d tried to ignore their looks of appraisal, but enough was enough. At least Solas made an attempt to be subtle.

“Just taking in your new look. It’s an improvement on Chantry-chic, I’ll give you that, Firecracker.”

One side of her mouth turned up in a crooked grin. “True. Red isn’t really my color. Not that these are flattering shades, but they’re not meant to be pretty. The functionality is what matters.”

“That Chantry cap looked pretty jaunty on you though.”

Gwen laughed outright at that. “Stop, Varric. Just stop.”

Varric chuckled, slinging Bianca over his shoulder.

“I thought those colors went well together. Leliana agreed,” Cassandra said quietly.

_Oh gods, Leliana let Cass pick out these colors? Why did Leliana let her get away with that? She’s always on about crimes of fashion too…_

Gwen exchanged looks with Varric who just shrugged, and she cleared her throat. “Let’s head up the mountain, shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not making promises, but the next installment is likely to be up within a couple days provided:
> 
> A) It doesn't get disgustingly hot (because I have a rough time writing in hot weather)  
> B) My health holds.
> 
> Until then, please come say hello to me at evillyte.tumblr.com! Thank you for reading!


	17. Strange Days Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The girls have it out, someone gets an antarctic shoulder, and Gwen's day just really does not improve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY SHIT! AN UPDATE! Really I can barely believe it myself, but here it is. My apologies for keeping you all waiting for SO LONG! JAYSUS! That said, I'm giving you a super long chapter in hopes that the next one won't take anywhere near as long to post. I've got it outlined and all signs point to yes, so with that I give you the long awaited SEVENTEENTH FUCKING CHAPTER. Sorry, I'm feeling really enthusiastic right now. Not terribly exciting as chapters go I think, but it sets the stage for future events. I hope you enjoy it and thank you so much for sticking with me! <3
> 
> **There are parts of this chapter that may be triggering so beware of a bit of blood, memories of emotional abuse, and stronger revelation of one character's atypical depression.
> 
> I hope everyone has had a fantastic holiday season and that you all achieve perfection in 2016!
> 
> If you're curious after all this time as to what Gwen (kinda) looks like: [click here!](http://mmesnappysnips.tumblr.com/post/136600276666/so-this-is-gwen-my-baby-oc-from-my-fic-nightmare)

Sealing the rift itself proved to be relatively simple for a task involving magic and demons; except for the part where Gwen evidently proved to be an epic fuckup in the _Canticle of Saint Pentaghast_. The fight at the rift went on longer than expected and the only person in the party who retained a significant injury was, to the surprise of no one, Gwen. However, Cassandra was apparently counting her dented breastplate and the potions Gwen dropped on the way up the mountain among the casualties. The Seeker had been in a snit ever since, seemingly pissed because Gwen got a split lip, which compared to prior injuries was nothing. It stung like a bitch though.

As the group made their descent, Cassandra focused on her glaring skills using Gwen as target practice. It wasn’t until they’d neared the Penitents’ Crossing that the Seeker started using her words.

“Why did you not state before we began fighting that you needed to rest?”

“Here it comes,” Gwen said wearily.

 _Right. Everything is Gwen’s fault. Yup. Everything. All of it. Magic, demons, erectile dysfunction, the Star Wars prequels. You name it, it’s my fault_.

“That does not answer my question.”

“I seem to recall saying something along those lines, Cassandra, and _someone_ ignored me.”

“I believe your exact words were, ‘I’m tired. Ladders really suck,’” the Seeker replied, attempting to mimic Gwen.

_Do I really sound like that?_

“Fine, so I wasn’t obvious enough for you. Next time, I will firmly state that I require rest before an encounter if I need it. I think I’m fortunate I made it up that mountain today, ladders or not.”

“On that we agree. I wondered if you might expire after all those ladders. Fortunately, you didn’t. The same cannot be said for your potions.”

“Hey! _I_ almost expired after climbing all the blighted ladders,” Varric griped.

Cassandra sneered at Varric. “Yet you did not break all your healing potions, unlike _some_ standing here.”

Varric shook his head. “Right. This is where I make myself scarce. Sorry, Firecracker. Chuckles, you coming?”

“Seeker, Gwen has been pushing herself beyond reasonable limits since she awoke after her attempt to seal the Breach. I know you’re aware she’s been recovering from further injury incurred in the Hinterlands for the last several days. That information should have been enough for you to declare she rest before continuing on.”

Cassandra stiffened. “I will not argue against the truth of what you say, Solas, but the fact remains that Gwen might have avoided being injured today, and indeed in the Hinterlands as well if she were in better health.”

Gwen shook her head at Solas. “Thanks for trying, Solas, but I think the Seeker and I need to hash this out.”

Varric’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Cassandra. “Hey, Seeker? Just remember you’re speaking to a person. With feelings.” With that, Varric and Solas walked ahead without the humans.

Cassandra turned to Gwen. “Surely you realize are too soft. This must be remedied if you, or indeed all of us, are to have a better chance at seeing this through. You cannot continue this way,” she said, not unkindly, laying her hands firmly on Gwen’s shoulders.

_The Seeker is not wrong, and you know it._

Gwen bit down on her lower lip, injury forgotten under Cassandra’s intense scrutiny. Unwelcome as the Seeker’s comment was, it served to remind Gwen of one of the many faults. And if Gwen excelled at anything, it was self-flagellation.

She tasted the coppery tang of blood on her tongue and winced. The relatively minor sting served as part of her penance, but it wasn’t enough for Cassandra. Nothing Gwen ever did was enough. She chafed inwardly over these thoughts as she tucked a sweaty lock of hair behind back beneath her demon-coated cowl.

Gwen was well aware of her lack of physical fitness, and Solas wasn’t wrong when he mentioned she’d been pushing herself beyond her limits. She knew that was partly to blame for her injuries and she wasn’t going to argue over something she knew to be true.

Suddenly, it was as if her mother were standing in front of her, sneering down at her and saying in her thickly accented English that Gwen’s depression was all in her head. She could see those dark-red lacquered lips frowning as they told her, “If you would just be as active as your sister and I, you wouldn’t be such a…”

One word always unspoken dangled in the silence:

 _Disappointment_.

What brought her anger to bear was not the fact that Cassandra’s words were a roundabout insinuation that Gwen was fat and lazy. No. What drew her ire was the assertion that she was somehow ignorant of her faults. It angered her that someone believed she was unobservant and unintelligent. And naturally, because she was assumed to be stupid, Gwen logically required the obvious to be pointed out to her by a third party, didn’t she?

Her teeth clenched as heat swept over her face, knuckles turning white as her hands balled into tight fists at her side, and her anger boiled over. “Oh. I never realized. Thank you!”

The Seeker recoiled slightly from Gwen’s blistering sarcasm, and Gwen was far from through. “It is so kind of you to point out the glaringly obvious, Seeker,” she hissed

Gwen reached up and shoved Cassandra’s hands away, a tremor settling into her voice, “Please accept my deep and humble apology for the egregious sin of not being up to par with your expectations or my own.”

She stepped right up to Cassandra, staring the woman down, feeling as if she was going to explode with rage. “I’m well aware of my failings, and I assure you, the ramifications of my personal health in this situation _weigh_ heavily upon me,” she bit out caustically.

“I—“ Cassandra began, wide-eyed, but Gwen didn’t give her time to speak.

“No, I’m not finished,” she hissed.

Cassandra took a step back, and Gwen saw fear in the Seeker’s eyes.

 _Even now she looks at you and sees a mage. She thinks you’ll become an abomination. Keep up like this and you just might_ …

She drew a shaky breath, her anger dampened. “I’m surprised I lived past the day you met me, and I’m sorry for that. Unfortunately, I am all you’ve got for the moment. I’m not an adventuring hero. I’m certainly no savior. I only hope to Christ I last long enough to seal the Breach, for your sakes, because I sure as shit don’t care about mine.” In the space of a breath, Gwen had shifted from biting sarcasm to deep self-loathing and by the end of her tirade, she was light-headed and a little nauseous. When her chin wobbled threatening oncoming tears, Gwen damn near lost it. She bit her damn lip to keep from crying in front of this woman.

_OH HELL NO THERE IS NO CRYING IN HAVEN! YOU STOP IT RIGHT NOW!_

Her head and shoulders drooped as the fight left her with a long, unsteady breath, and she stared at the muddy path under her feet. The silence between them was deafening in comparison to the snow falling quietly around them.

After a moment, Cassandra regained some of her lost composure, her posture relaxing as she spoke in a gentled voice, “I think there are many people alive in the Hinterlands right now thanks to you. I think many more will be saved than lost all over Thedas because of you. Perhaps you do not see it in yourself right now, but I see the potential in you. I meant no insult. I know I can be abrupt, but please know that you are valued, with or without your mark.”

Gwen’s chin wobbled threateningly again, and she bit down harder on her lip. She never trusted that anyone who said such things actually meant them. Still, it was good enough for soothe her for the time being, and also make her regret words spoken in the heat of the moment.

“Well,” she began quietly, “We should have a detailed discussion during today’s war council meeting to do something about it. About me, that is, and my… softness.”

This was perhaps as close as either of them would get making apologies, and it was enough, for once.

Cassandra’s lips twitched. “I will not lie and say it will be easy, but I will support you as much as I can.”

“I didn’t expect it would be easy, and I thank you for your support. Though allow me to apologize beforehand for the inevitable cursing that will undoubtedly occur in your presence, among other things. You also have to admit those ladders are bloody miserable.”

Cassandra chuckled, shaking her head as she patted Gwen’s shoulder companionably, the sound of hammers meeting metal ringing out as the two of them neared the smithy. “I’m curious about one thing you said before.”

Gwen glanced up at the Seeker. “Oh? What’s that then?”

“What is a ‘Christ’?”

“Christ? Oh, err…” Her eyes widened at the realization she’d made her first major slip, but the look on Cassandra’s face brought a grin to hers, and that in turn made Gwen swear from the renewed pain in her lip.

The Seeker rolled her eyes. “Never mind. You may tell me later. I should inform Leliana of the soldiers’ remains we found and see that proper arrangements are made for them. Will you see Harritt is able to make repairs to my armor?” Cassandra squinted searching out the smith.

“Sure. It’s the least I can do for now.” It was partly Gwen’s fault that Cassandra looked like she had metal tits now. Gwen hoped Harritt could hammer the sternum area of the breastplate back into shape.

“Thank you, Gwen. I will see you at the war council later, and get that lip seen to,” Cassandra called out with a small smile as she walked away.

Gwen was left standing just outside the forge, and she peered into the shaded area looking for Harritt. She would go in, but the last time she’d come round, she felt like she’d gotten in everyone’s way.

“Need ‘elp wiv summink, miss?”

The question came from a young man, face covered in sweat and soot with the overwhelming scent of onions fairly oozing from him. Gwen gagged a little, but she didn’t imagine she smelled much better.

Out of habit, Gwen smiled politely, immediately regretting it. “Yes, do you know where I might find Harritt? I need to speak with him.”

The smith sniffed and seemed to think about it, snorting wetly into wadded up rag he pulled from the back of his breeches. With a pained blink, the man nodded, swiping his grimy forearm across his brow, leaving even more soot behind. “I’ll fetch ‘im for ye, miss.”

“Thanks,” Gwen said as the odd smith shuffled away.

 _Don’t judge. He might be perfectly charming when bathed and not horking up a lung. Doubtful, but still_.

She tore off the end of the Inquisition standard that dangled from her belt, dabbing her lip with the coarse cloth while she waited. And waited. Then waited a bit more. After a while, took a seat on the low stone wall, leaning her staff beside her as she watched soldiers train by the lake. Soon enough she would be among them, she thought. Maybe. She wasn’t sure how they were going to train her just yet.

“Merwik! Why didn’t you say it was the Herald?!”

Gwen yelped in surprise and just barely caught herself before she toppled over.

“Sorry about that, Herald. Merwik’s a bit fucking slow!” The last aimed at the allegedly slow smith in particular. Poor bloke. “Er, sorry about the language, m’lady. What can I help you with?”

She dabbed at her lip again to stop herself from grinning at Harritt’s apology. “You don’t need to watch yourself around me, Harritt, so don’t worry about it. As for how you can help me,” and she went on to bring up the need for emergency armor repairs before the party left in the morning.

Harritt sent poor Merwik to fetch the Seeker’s gear, then he asked for input on the new armor he’d been working on for Gwen since he finished the first set. So she told him how the glove for her left hand might be better modified for her mark. She was pointing out issues with the knee brace design on the schematic Harritt had drawn up when smith grunted.

She peered up at Harritt’s grizzled face. “Sorry, did I say something wrong?”

“Oh. No m’lady. Just think the Commander is trying to get your attention.”

“Eh?” Gwen looked over to where Harritt was pointing, and it seemed he was correct as the man in question was waving in their general direction. Once it seemed Gwen had noticed the Commander, the man motioned her over.

“Ah, I think you’re right, Harritt. Before I go, do you have what you need to get everything done before morning? It’s not going to be too much trouble, is it?”

“Not at all. That’s what we’re here for. We work on specialized gear only, not the sh--tuff for the troops. I can’t have the Herald of Andraste running about in that half-arsed gear Threnn gets for the regulars.”

Gwen snorted and picked up her staff. “Thank you, Harritt. Your effort is greatly appreciated.”

Harritt started barking orders around the forge as soon as she edged her way toward Cullen. The Commander met her half-way.

She edged a step closer, shouldering her staff. “Commander?”

“Lady Herald,” he replied, and awkward salutes (at least on Gwen’s part) were exchanged. “I'm pleased to see that you – all of you—returned unscathed.”

Gwen looked down at her borrowed ensemble, sweaty and covered in demon filth as she was, her grin turning to a pained grimace that she hid behind a laugh. “Relatively, anyway. I should've waited to change until after we returned.”

“‘Faith in the Maker protects the souls of the faithful,’ Cassandra might say, though I think she would agree with me when I say that the clothing of a lay-sister would've offered you little in the way of practical protection in battle against demons or much else.”

“Waxing blasphemous today, are we?”

He glanced away and snorted, rubbing the back of his neck. “It does seem to be that sort of day, doesn't it?”

Her grin widened helplessly at that, and she swore, “Buggering lip.” She caught sight of one raised eyebrow before she looked away. She pressed her makeshift rag against the wound, which only slightly muffled her apology. “Sorry. I need to get this seen to.”

“I’ve just the thing. No need to bother the healers for it when I can help just as easily. Follow me.” It wasn’t really a suggestion and he didn’t wait to see if she actually followed, he just started walking.

 _I think he just… commanded me_.

“I, er, alright.”

Somehow she didn’t mind, and she trailed along behind him.

Cullen led her to what she presumed was his tent when he lifted the flap and ducked in. She waited at the threshold for him to fetch whatever he was going to fetch.

“Come in for a moment. I won’t bite. Or smite. I promise.”

She set her staff against his tent, eyebrows rising in mild shock as she stepped under the tent flap. “Did you just make a templar joke, Commander?”

He caught her by her shoulders before she stumbled into him, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he steadied her on her feet, the tent flap falling closed behind her. “I did say it seemed to be that sort of day, didn’t I? Now stay put.”

 _Well, this is unexpectedly cozy_ … Don’t think like that.

Cullen lit an oil lamp and hung it from a hook in the center of the ridge pole above Gwen’s head. He turned and knelt in front of a sturdy chest between the desk and the bedroll, and began rummaging around inside it.

The tent was spacious, as tents went, and similar to the one she’d used for all of an hour in the Hinterlands.

“Would you mind grabbing the bottle of whiskey on the desk? We’re going to need it in a moment,” he said before continuing his search.

She looked at the tiny desk with neatly stacked papers, the armor stand, the nicely made bedroll piled with furs.

_No, GOD! Don’t look at the bedroll! Look somewhere else! ANYWHERE ELSE!_

“I have some salve I swear by,” he told her.

Gwen’s eyes drifted to Cullen’s rather firm backside.

_Not the anywhere else I was going for… JUST GRAB THE DAMN WHISKEY, DUMMY._

She was suddenly very thankful Cullen was facing away from her as her traitorous cheeks grew warm. Finally, she reached for the bottle on the desk, but alas, her fingers weren’t strong enough to pull the cork.

A moment later, Cullen produced a small jar with a victorious little cry, “Ah ha! Here it is.”

Cullen stood up, only slightly hunched over as he set the dark jar on the desk and plucked his gloves off, setting them aside. Then he tore a cloth bandage into smaller strips with practiced effiency. and pulled the cork from the glass bottle.

“The bottle, if you please, my lady,” he said, holding his hand out for it.

She handed it over and Cullen easily removed the cork.

 _Bastard_.

He picked up a strip of cloth and wadded it up, then held it over the mouth of the whiskey bottle. He held the bottle upside-down, soaking the cloth before setting the bottle down on the desk.

Grabbing her shoulders, Cullen positioned Gwen in front of him. “Right. This will probably sting like the Void, just so you know.” With an apologetic look, he took the whiskey-soaked bandage and pressed it to her mouth.

Gwen hissed and flinched away from the source of pain, but Cullen’s left hand caught chin and held her still until her lip stopped burning and just felt numb. “I’m so sorry,” he said, “but at least that’s done. Next bit’ll be easier, I promise.”

“S’alright,” she gritted out, the taste of whiskey tainted with blood on the tip of her tongue.

 _Ugh_ … _And really, how dare he smell so damn good. HOW DARE!_

Standing as close as they were, it was impossible not to notice his scent; a heady combination of sweat, leather, armor polish, wood smoke, and that hint of lyrium. In most circumstances, it might make her gag, but no, _his_ smell she liked. That annoyed her. A lot.

He held her chin aloft, dipping a finger from his free hand into the jar. “This stuff works wonders. I’ve used this formula for long while now. Hold still while I just...” Cullen held his breath as he carefully applied the ointment to Gwen’s lip with a surprisingly gentle touch.

When he seemed satisfied with his handiwork, he tilted her chin up to catch the light and give it one last inspection, then nodded. “There.”

Her eyes met his, the world outside went quiet, and there suddenly wasn't enough air for her to take a breath.

“Better?” Cullen asked softly, releasing her chin, his calloused fingertips lightly grazing her throat as he pulled his hand away.

“Er, yes. Thank you.” She cursed inwardly at how breathy she sounded to her own ears. Sure, he left her lip feeling pleasantly warm and tingly, just not in the way other parts of her were choosing to interpret the very likely unintentional intimacy of the situation. She tried ignore those things.

“Good. Keep the salve. I have more. I just wish I’d had it before I got this,” he said with a rueful grin, pointing to his own lip scar.

 _God, don’t look at his mouth! Helloooooo! Earth to Gwen!? The man didn’t call you over to take care of your booboos. Ask what he wanted before you make a bigger idiot of yourself mooning over him_.

Dragging her eyes away from his mouth, she cleared her throat, and found her voice, tasting cloves when the tip of her tongue touched her lip. “I believe you had something you wanted to discuss?”

He was silent for a moment and seemed absorbed in thought as he looked at her. Gwen was just about to repeat herself, her discomfort increasing by the second when he finally answered her. “Oh? OH! Yes. Maker’s breath, I apologize. I felt it would be better to talk about this outside of the war council. I just wanted to t—“

“Commander!” The tent flap flew open, and Gwen leapt away from Cullen at the intrusion, her heart caught in her throat.

_NOTHING TO SEE HERE! NOTHING AT ALL!_

“Commander Cullen, ser?! There's a mage just arrived from Cumberland who wants to speak with you or Seeker Pentaghast.”

“Take them to the Seeker then, Jim,” Cullen snapped.

“I did and she was busy, ser. Something about armor repairs, ser. She told me to bring him, the mage, to you, ser.”

Someone, probably the mage in question, spoke up behind Jim. “Out of the way, boy. Honestly, I would wait, Cullen, but this cold bloody mountain air doesn't agree with my old knees. Have mercy on an old elf, would you?”

Jim was shoved aside by a handsome older elven man with long, white hair in a braid as thick as one of Gwen’s wrists. He wore very plush mage robes compared to anything Gwen had seen thus far.

The elf twisted around. “I think the Commander is intelligent enough to see who I am for himself, lad,” the mage said with an imperious sniff, successfully dismissing Jim’s presence.

_Oh, Jim…_

Cullen at least had the grace to look only a little less embarrassed than Gwen felt at the interruption. “Ah, Enchanter Avurion. Welcome to Haven. I thought I saw you among the mages gathered this morning.”

The Commander hat was back on.

“I was, and taming their bloody egos is no mean feat, but somehow I managed,” Avurion said with a smug smile.

Gwen noticed faint vallaslin on the enchanter’s gently-lined face, or scars where the blood-writing had once been. He also had eyes in a shade of raw umber that practically glowed. She realized she must’ve been staring because those intense eyes narrowed at her, even as the mage continued his banter with Cullen.

“Your assistance is greatly appreciated, Avurion. I would have sought you out before, but--”

The older mage silenced Cullen with a gesture, his smirk dropping away as his eyes bore into Gwen, one brow quirked up with interest. “For the best, I think, and am I mistaken, or is this not the same Chantry sister I saw you and High Chancellor Roderick chatting with after you dispersed the crowd?”

“Oh, you’ve not yet met the—“

Gwen cut the Commander off before he could utter the damned “H” word. “You are mistaken only in thinking an Inquisition agent in borrowed clothing was of the clergy, messere.” She bowed slightly.

“Just an agent, eh?” The mage looked from Cullen to Gwen and back. “Is it the wisest thing to be dipping into the Inquisition inkwell, Commander?”

Gwen’s jaw dropped at the man’s words. She couldn’t even bring herself to look at Cullen, drawing her cowl further down to hide what must have been a four-alarm face.

_Could this be more embarrassing? God…_

“What? Maker, no, of course not! That’s the Herald!” The Commander sputtered, incredulous.

 _Well that blew embarrassment right the fuck out of the water_.

Just like that, her heart was plunged down through the center of the frozen lake, and the ice spread through her veins. With a hastily mumbled excuse, she ignored a round of feebly spoken protests as she shouldered past Avurion, fleeing as fast as her tired legs could carry her with Cullen’s words sinking like lead in her gut. She didn’t even care that she’d left her bloody staff behind.

Gwen was glad Rosalee was nowhere to be seen as she slunk into the cabin. She wasn’t sure she had the strength of will to plaster a smile on her face after taking several brutal hits to her already fragile self-image in one day. Instead, she sank into the cold water of her hip bath, letting the pain of rejection seep into her bones, girding her from further flights of fancy.

This was reality, not a game. No special romance was written for Gwen and Thedas would be no different from home in that respect. And just like home, she had to suck it up.

Gwen knew that she would never get a “happily-ever-after.”

* * *

 

She arrived at the war council sometime later dressed plainly in a borrowed tunic and breeches, her damp hair pinned in a loose bun at her nape. Between the temperature of her bathwater and Commander Cullen’s words still echoing in her head, she was numb, inside and out.

Her response to all topics broached could be called civil, at best. If she was expected to address the Commander, she did so, but never quite looked at him. This difference became most apparent when the topic of Gwen’s impending ~~torture~~ training arose.

“Cullen, I think you should take the lead in planning Gwen’s training. You are the best suited, after all, having the most experience training beside mages,” Cassandra suggested.

Leliana and Josephine looked at one another and nodded.

“Agreed,” Leliana said.

“If the Herald is not averse to it, then it shall be done.”

_Still with the bloody Herald shit… I see I am unworthy of a fucking name._

Gwen felt everyone’s eyes on her. She offered a reply in the form of indifferent shrug.

Cassandra grunted her irritation. “Yes or no, Gwen? Do you agree to train under Commander Cullen for now?”

_Well, that wording was shit, Cassie, darling…_

“Needs must,” Gwen replied, aiming for “glacial,” though she was sure she at least achieved “sour.” She didn’t think she’d have to try too hard to achieve a blizzard in the confines of this room in her current mood without using any magic.

Josephine shivered just then, giving credence to Gwen’s inner thoughts

“I have several ideas already,” The Commander said, his voice cracking mildly. “It is my hope that we can begin putting those ideas into action upon your return from the Storm Coast, Herald.”

Gwen didn’t acknowledge him. Throats were cleared and bodies shifted around in creaky chairs as the silence stretched taut between them.

Cassandra proved to be the first one brave enough to finally break through the unspoken barricade. “The journey to our rendezvous point with the Chargers will take a few days. Five, perhaps four if the weather holds. It is mild for Cloudreach in Ferelden this year, I’m told.”

The subject changed briefly to a polite, and frankly dull, discussion about the local weather. Gwen tuned them all out and she started counting the stones in the ceiling.

Cassandra’s elbow digging into her ribs brought her sharply back to the conversation however, and Gwen snarled, “Bloody ow! What was that for?”

Cassandra scowled down at her, and Gwen scowled right back, rubbing her ribs.

 _Fuck you. Fuck today. Seriously. Just, fuck everything_. _FUCK!_

“You were saying, Josephine?” Cassandra said, looking at Gwen as she spoke.

“Ah, Mistress Gwen, what is your opinion on the matter of meeting with the Chantry mothers in Val Royeaux?”

Gwen took a breath and calmed herself as her mouth formed a reply, but the Commander offered his opinion first.

“I think we risk too much if we send the Herald to Val Royeaux.”

Leliana appeared to agree as she added to the Commander’s concerns. “If the current state of the capital holds, she risks being mobbed, or worse.”

“Josephine asked Gwen for _her_ opinion.”

Cassandra seemed to sense something was wrong, but anything that wasn’t inanimate would probably have noticed by now. Still, Gwen appreciated that the Seeker, her lack of diplomacy skills notwithstanding, seemed to truly care in her own abrupt manner. Gwen knew how things were supposed to go, even if they were playing out just a little different.

“I need to go, that much is clear. Whether my attendance changes minds in the Chantry or not, the Inquisition gain visibility, and more people will be given a glimpse of the _Heretic_ of Andraste.”

There was a round of chuckles, then the Commander commented with a snort, “So long as they don’t think we actually care about the Chantry’s opinion of you.”

Gwen met the Commander’s gaze then, and if he happened to look contrite, she disregarded it as indigestion before she looked away without a word.

“I will go with her,” Cassandra announced, then said to Leliana, “You’ve heard from most of the clerics, yes?”

“I have. They have invited the Herald to talks in the Summer Bazaar.”

“Then we can extend our journey and take ship from Highever.”

Josephine was scribbling furiously on her slate as she spoke, “True. Returning to Haven from there would be unnecessary.” The ambassador looked up from her slate at Gwen. “I have already taken the liberty of ensuring that you, Mistress Harwood, would have appropriate garments for the task. The elf, Rosalee, has been very helpful with supplying your measurements, and is also quite skilled with a needle. She has worked tirelessly on alterations of one or two gowns since you left for the Hinterlands.”

Gwen’s scowl mimicked Cassandra’s as the Seeker asked, “Why would she need gowns to meet Chantry mothers?”

“The gowns have been prepared for any possibility, not just meeting with the Chantry. After all, what if the Herald is invited to a fete? It would be uncivilized to appear in full armor in a noble salon. I merely wish the Inquisition to have the best possible representation in any situation that may or may not present itself.”

Leliana hid a smile poorly behind one gloved hand while Josephine beamed at Gwen.

“Thank you for your thoughtfulness, Lady Montilyet.”

“Please come see the results here in the Chantry before you retire for the evening. I think you will be pleased at what we’ve been able to achieve with Fereldan… fashion.”

Gwen wasn’t sure why, but that worried her. She’d not been very taken with local fashions thus far.

Commander Cullen cleared his throat to gain attention. “In the meantime, I shall arrange passage for your party to the city via Highever. Teyrn Cousland already supports the Inquisition, thanks to the Herald’s good judgment, and it is my hope that more Fereldans will follow his example.”

Gwen stared at the map marker over Val Royeaux, ignoring the hopeful note in the Commander’s voice.

“Are we all agreed, then?” Cassandra asked.

With verbal assent given by everyone around the table, the meeting was adjourned and everyone rose to leave. Cassandra laid a hand on Gwen’s shoulder, pinning her in place with a stern look. “Have you eaten?”

“No.”

“Have you seen a healer?”

“No.”

“Hmph, your lip looks much improved. Regardless, do both tonight before you retire. You will need your strength for the journey ahead.”

She bristled at the Seeker’s tone. “Fine. Any other orders, _ma’am_?”

“I… It was not my intention to order you. I am only concerned for your wellbeing. I pray you rest well, Gwen. I will see you before daybreak.” With a brisk nod, Cassandra accompanied Josephine out of the room, leaving Gwen felt a twinge of guilt.

Before long, her neck prickled, feeling eyes on burning into her. She glanced over her shoulder. The Commander hovered beside Leliana, and Gwen’s gaze slid over Cullen, still feeling too brittle to deal with the him.

So she directed her question to the spymaster. “How can I help you, Sister Leliana?”

Cullen expelled a loud sigh, picking up a sheaf of papers and rather forcefully straightened them on the table, then left the room holding himself stiff as stone.

Gwen, who was not remotely amused in the slightest by Cullen’s actions (well, she was a little,) met Leliana’s thoughtful gaze.

Leliana’s lips curved in amusement. "By the look of things between you and Cullen tonight, I think I should have offered our dear Commander a good wine to accompany the taste of his foot.”

Gwen swallowed a smirk at Leliana’s remark, deciding that a strategic change of subject was in order. “Did you wish to speak to me about something, Sister Leliana?”

“Yes, actually.” Leliana shut the door so they had a modicum of privacy. “I know I mentioned my friend Alim to you earlier, and how I lost hope of finding him alive after all these years. So I suppose to say I lost hope was an exaggeration. I pray for him still. And I never stopped searching for him, or for news that might lead to him. I have many eyes and ears relaying any news to me, no matter how insignificant it may seem.

“That said, it has come to my attention that the Grey Wardens in Ferelden have almost entirely vanished. When I sent word to the Orlesian Wardens inquiring about it, there was no reply. The Wardens disappear from two countries? The Divine is killed at the Conclave with the opening of the Breach? Perhaps it is a strange conclusion to draw, to say these things might be related, but it all seems highly suspect, I think.”

Gwen frowned, guilt eating away at her for withholding information that might save lives. She knew also that sharing it might make everything worse, and at this point, she would really hate to see worse. “Agreed.”

“Good. The others were unconcerned, dismissing my suspicions as random coincidence, but I don’t think this should be ignored. There is something we are missing, and whether the Wardens are involved with the death of the Divine and the Breach or not, it would be better to know for certain where they’ve disappeared to, no?”

“It certainly warrants looking into, in my opinion.”

Leliana nodded and bent over the map. “One of my agents uncovered news of one Grey Warden in particular still in Ferelden by the name of Blackwall. This warden was sighted near the Hinterlands just days ago, near here,” she said, pointing to a tiny marker for the Inquisition’s lakeside camp.

“Though it seems this warden has since moved north. My scouts think it most likely he is traveling the western shore of Lake Calenhad. Perhaps you can seek him out on your return from the coast?”

“We’ll make the time to look for him.”

Leliana bowed her head, giving Gwen a small smile. “I’ll send a word when I know more. I just hope this Blackwall has some answers.”

Gwen didn’t have the heart to tell Leliana otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone has had a fantastic holiday season and that you all achieve perfection in 2016!
> 
> Also, please come chat with me about this and other Dragon Age stuff [@mmesnappysnips](http://mmesnappysnips.tumblr.com/)


	18. Shelter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long awaited chat finally happens, and Gwen stresses over another one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Look! Another update! And a little angsty, just in time for Valentine's Day!
> 
> *Not beta'd and most likely poorly edited. Any mistakes are mine!

They made excellent time on the remnants of the Imperial Highway while the fickle Fereldan sun remained on their side. Aside from stopping twice to close rifts near small villages, little else troubled them on their journey northward.

On the third day, they broke away from the highway to continue along a road that had seen better days. Within a half-day’s ride, Gwen smelled the familiar tang of salt in the air mixed with the scent of cypress and pine, and she smiled for the first time since they had left Haven.

“Copper for your thoughts?” Varric said as his pony caught up to hers.

“Mmm?”

“You’ve been broody for days, then out of the blue you smile. What gives?”

Her smile widened. “It smells like home,” she said, and her smile faltered, a sharp ache in her chest at the thought. As imperfect as Gwen’s connection to her family was, she hoped that all of them were well, and she missed talking to her sister. She didn’t really want to get into detail about it with Varric though, or anyone else for that matter.

The dwarf must have sensed her reluctance to elaborate on the subject, and she was grateful when he hummed and nodded, falling back a few steps to leave her with her thoughts.

The party continued on in relative silence for a time, though the growing ache in Gwen’s wounds, old and new, hinted to her that their good luck with the weather was going to change.

A short while later, ominous clouds crested the treetops, proving the accuracy of Gwen’s barometric arthritis.

“I would recommend we begin seeking a place to shelter for the night, Seeker, before that storm comes upon us,” Solas urged.

“Agreed. Keep watch for caves or the like. Hopefully we find something with space enough for our mounts as well.”

Unfortunately, the deluge found them before they found a cave that suited their needs. The suddenness of it delighted the pluviophile in Gwen, and she grinned up at the falling rain as her voice rose in a strangled, raspy squeak, “And how can this be? For _she_ is the Kwizatz Haderach!”

Varric gave her a questioning look, being the only one to hear her, or at least acknowledge that she said anything. She laughed lightly, offering Varric no explanation for her comment. She tilted her head back, mouth open wide to catch a few drops on her tongue. Then the rain abruptly stopped, and Gwen scowled her disappointment, but noticed that it was now bouncing off all of them.

Solas’ his hands glowed dully as he twisted in his saddle to look back at Gwen. “I think the two of us might alternate holding this kind of barrier until we find shelter. Shall I show you how to modify the spell?”

“I would be grateful for your advice and instruction, Solas,” she said, and it was the truth.

Solas’ back straightened, a very slight curve on his lips.

 _Oh, look at you preen, you smug bastard_.

She repressed a snort at how easily the elf’s ego was stroked and listened carefully as his lesson commenced.

The sky had grown darker, and Gwen and Solas had both begun to grow weary when Cassandra called a halt. “Hold! I see a cave that may suit our needs. This way!”

The party dismounted and Cassandra turned to Solas. “Let us make sure we are not intruding upon anyone, or any _thing_ , else first.”

Gwen moved to take the reins of their mounts, happy to take a backseat and avoid cave exploration, not terribly eager to run into whatever might lie in wait within.

Varric sidled up to her. “I may be a dwarf, but I’m not too crazy about caves, or sleeping in them. But if my choices are ‘sleep like my Voided ancestors’ or ‘drown while standing,’ I’ll take the former.”

It didn’t take long for their companions to come back and give the all-clear, and there was a collective sigh of relief as they ushered their mounts inside. Solas had already lit several torches and started a fire in a well-used pit inside, and like many similar caverns Gwen recalled from the game, this cave had seen a fair amount of visitors in the past. Not surprising, given it was relatively dry and seemed made for such things. The stone was hewn in dwarven style, floor to ceiling, except for a portion to the rear that had collapsed. Large boulders seemed to keep much of whatever lay behind it sealed away, but Gwen less than pleased about the sizable, pitch black opening near the ceiling. A discovery made all the more disquieting by the way the hole seemed to… breathe.

Solas was in charge of their meal that night, leaving Gwen, Cassandra, and Varric to see to the mounts and set up the bedrolls.

Gwen’s eyes seldom wandered from the collapse in the same way that she used to watch the odd spider crawl across a ceiling back at home, and her wariness didn’t go unnoticed. Varric came over and handed Gwen a mug of something warm. She took a sip, and the warmth of spiced cider eased her aching bones a bit.

“You know, I could tell you that you’ll get used to that,” Varric said, pointing to the gap, “but it really doesn’t get any better for us surface types. Take it from someone who spent time in the Deep Roads. Not something I recommend, by the way.”

The foursome shared a quiet meal, and Gwen volunteered for first watch. She knew she wouldn’t get much sleep because of that damn hole.

“I will join Gwen for watch tonight,” Solas added mildly, giving Gwen a pointed look.

_Uh oh… Does that look mean what I think it means?_

It did.

After Varric and Cassandra dozed off in their respective bedrolls, Solas joined Gwen where she sat with her back to the wall, with one eye trained on that goddamn hole.

“I believe a conversation is long overdue between us,” Solas said as he sat gracefully beside her.

“An interrogation, you mean.”

“I—no. Not an interrogation. Though I am sure, were we in one another’s place that you would find yourself as curious as I.”

She couldn’t argue his point and sighed in resignation. “True enough. Ask your questions then.”

“Thank you, though you may ask me questions as well, if you like.”

“Good to know. If I have any, I’ll be sure to ask.”

“You are quick, yet unpracticed with your magic using almost no runes when you cast. A human who speaks some of the elvhen tongue, and senses the artifacts of my people, the latter being highly unusual. I admit that you are an enigma to me, Gwen.”

“Was there a question in there somewhere?”

“I’m sensing a theme of some sort here, Solas, though I’m unsure as to what exactly it is yet.”

“Among other reasons.”

“Are you elf-blooded?”

Gwen choked on her cider, then wiped her mouth and chin with the back of her hand, replying hoarsely, “Am I what?”

“It is not unusual for those who are aware of being elf-blooded to hide the truth of their identity so they can avoid the possibility of discrimination by elves and humans both. If sharing this knowledge makes you uncomfortable, I understand, though you have my word that I shall not repeat it to anyone.”

Even if that was the case, which she bloody well knew it wasn’t, Solas promised not to say anything, but he didn’t say he wouldn’t judge her for it. Gwen guessed he already judged her constantly anyway. And as absurd as the question seemed to her, she couldn’t deny that she might be able to use his odd theory to her advantage, making it more difficult to discover the actual truth about her origins and knowledge of artifacts. If Gwen went along with it, and pretending he was correct kept him from digging any deeper, well, who was she to look a gift-elf in the mouth?

_Time to sell it, baby!_

She’d spent the last few days of travel wallowing in a mire of her own creation, so this façade wouldn’t be a stretch.

She donned a mantle of shame, shoulders drooping. “Fine, yes, you’ve caught me. Humans despise me for my elf blood, and elves despise me for my humanity. Clever you. My existence must be offensive to you, and hearing elvhen from my unworthy lips must have caused you significant pain and anguish. Please accept my apology for insulting you by the sheer fact that I breathe,” she voiced bitterly.

She wished a similar speech had occurred back in Haven, though tailored to a former-templar audience of one, had she not run off like a coward instead.

Solas, meanwhile, appeared unsurprised by her "confession", but not unaffected by the emotion behind it. She swore his ears drooped a little as he said, “I should not have asked in such an indelicate manner. Your concern for the elf-blooded girl orphaned in the Hinterlands also seemed to give your origin away, and that further formed my theory. I wished only to confirm… Well, it does not matter. I have pried into an obviously painful subject for you, and I am sorry.”

“Kindness to a child made you think that I’m a _half-blood_?”

Solas winced slightly. “When put that way, it does seem far-fetched, but I did not say it was the only thing to make me wonder. You seem able to continually surprise me, and that is not a simple task to do. We are mages both, and I simply wished to understand your affinity for elven magic. I, for one, am glad you are here, Gwen, regardless of your blood.”

 ** _SELL. IT_**.

“Well, I admit it is somewhat of a relief that someone knows,” she admitted.

“And it shall remain between us, you have my word.”

 _We’ll see about that._ _He has some dirt on me now, so he thinks_.

“ _Ma serannas_ , Solas,” she said.

“ _Tel-emas banal ma serannas_.” *****

_WTF did he just say?_

She was sure her face matched her level of confusion. “Gesundheit?”

Solas laughed softly. “It means, ‘No thanks are needed.’”

“I told you I only know a little elvish and I meant it. I pick up on things, sometimes.”

“So it would seem.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, not sure if he was throwing an insult or not. Both, probably. Solas was a smart cookie that way.

They spoke amiably in hushed voices for the remainder of their watch, though now Gwen was once again utterly creeped out by what might crawl out of that damn gap.

When she said she would remain on watch and either Varric or Cassandra could go back to sleep, Cassandra insisted that Gwen get some rest.

Gwen pretended to agree to rest, and tugged her cowl down over her eyes as she sat with her back propped against a wall. The fact that their horses barely stirred should have been a comfort to her because animals were quick to pick up on danger, but it was kinda like trying to sleep with an open closet, and Gwen knew it just was not going to happen.

Though with Varric and Cassandra both awake, she relaxed a little. She’d be cranky as hell when later, but since that usually just resulted in sullen silence on her part, it wouldn’t be much of a change from the past few days.

She’d been in a shitty mood since the morning they left Haven thanks to another confrontation between herself and Commander Cullen, which ran on an evil loop in her brain on an hourly basis.

She slumped gazing at the flickering shadows cast by the fire, frowning as the scene played in her mind for the umpteenth time.

_She hummed to herself in the stables as she did her level best to get her horse ready without assistance, tongue caught between her teeth as she adjusted one last buckle. A soft knock on the stall door brought forth a startled laugh, sure it was Ansburg. The man had the patience of a saint, but he was understandably cautious about her experience, so she understood that he might want to hover, just to make sure things were sorted. “I swear I can handle this part, Ansburg. You have better things to do than make sure I’m not screwing up,” she said with fond exasperation._

_“You look to be doing an admirable job to me, Herald.”_

_She stiffened and her smile vanished. “Commander.” Her level of disappointment fairly dripped from the word._

_It had been too much for her to hope she could avoid Cullen entirely before her party left. She tamped down her sudden urge to bolt and her horse nickered and fussed, picking up on the change in Gwen’s mood. She stroked Snowlight’s muzzle in an attempt to soothe the mare, though it seemed as much for herself as for her horse._

_Glancing up, she could see Cullen out the corner of her eye standing just outside the stall, hands clasped behind him._

_“I apologize,” he began, “for, ah, disturbing your preparations, but there was something I couldn’t allow you to leave without.”_

_She frowned, but found herself curious all the same. Slowly, Gwen turned and moved forward, remaining beside Snowlight as she looked up at Cullen, keeping her face carefully blank (she hoped). “What would that be, Commander?”_

_She absolutely did_ not _have any kind of nervous flutter in her belly._

_Cullen’s expression was guarded too as he spoke, “Harritt found this by the forge. I--He seemed relatively sure you might need it in your travels, and I quite agreed.” He then produced her staff from behind his back, his throat moving as he swallowed anxiously, a plea hanging silent and heavy in his soft, brown eyes._

_Gwen’s eyes flicked from the Commander to the proverbial olive branch in his hands, and her frown deepened. She wondered at his motivation for lying about where she’d left her staff, searching his words for hidden meaning._

_Cullen cleared his throat gently. “Ah, I also took the liberty having the grip and blade replaced,” he explained. “With some helpful suggestions from knowledgeable parties, I think I selected items of higher quality that will, I trust, prove more effective for you in the field.” His posture was more confident when he finished, unaware that he’d misread her expression completely._

_Her went blank for a moment, and she, quite frankly, had no idea what to say. She did know the last thing she wanted to do was thank the man for a bloody thing._

Moi? Hold a grudge? Never _._

_True, Cullen didn’t know her, and whatever idiotic attachment she held was for a fictional character that did not exist in this world. The flesh and blood human being standing in front of her might share that character’s name, title, and some of his history, but he was surely more complex and as fallible as she or anyone else in this or any world._

_Was this him trying to be noble in order to preserve what little there was of her dignity? Or was he trying to avoid the scandal of being caught in a possibly compromising situation with a mage, and an apostate, of all things?_

_She reasoned from what she knew of him, fictional or otherwise, that his time in in the shitstorm known as Kirkwall wasn’t all that distant, and changing his strongly held beliefs of a lifetime about magic and mages was unlikely to pull a complete 180 on his morality after knowing her for all of two seconds._

_In retrospect, the knowledge that he’d kept watch over her while she recovered from her initial attempt at sealing the Breach suddenly seemed less about concern for her as a person than his concern that she’d puke up a demon and arise an abomination. He seemed the type who, because of experience, would not shy away from duty, unpleasant though they may be. Gwen knew he’d had to stand watch over multiple Harrowings when he was still officially part of the Templar Order._

_She also knew that anyone in such a position would think that seeing her, or anyone like her, as a person would be dangerous, and might cause hesitation in a moment where one could not afford to be hesitant. The Chantry dictates, after all, and the Chantry is the authority on magic, mages, and dire magical situations._

You can take the Templar out of the Order…

_Cullen shuffled his feet as their silent stalemate drew out, the air thick with tension. In the end it was Snowlight who took the initiative, nudging Gwen forcefully toward Cullen._

_She aimed a sidelong glance at the horse._ Traitor, _she thought_.

 _Words offering the Commander forgiveness lay on the tip of her tongue. Surely Cullen’s slight, unintended as it may have been, could be overlooked? Surely she should accept his unspoken apology and be grateful for the gift of his thoughtful attention. As Herald,_ surely _she should be an example of generosity and compassion to others, and seek compromise. And with the miraculous healing power of her love, she would be the one to change his heart and mind about mages and magic!_

_But they weren’t in a romance novel, and it wasn’t up to Gwen to change Cullen’s point of view. If he sought change, that journey was his alone to undertake. What she could do, if nothing else, was prove to herself that she wasn’t a pushover, and leave him with some food for thought._

_She looked into Cullen’s stupidly pretty eyes and knew what she needed to do._

_She bowed her head in show of submission, glancing up at him through her eyelashes, and ice infused every word that left her mouth. “How forgetful of me. You are very kind to return it. Please forgive my careless disregard of Inquisition property. My negligence has taken you from your duties, and for that I apologize. And you’ve spent your own gold to make improvements to it as well. I will strive to repay you as quickly as possible for the full amount. Rest assured that such a mistake will_ never _be repeated.”_

_She relieved him of her staff, carefully avoiding physical contact, and said, “And I will repay you the full amount for the improvements you paid for, Knight Commander,_ **ser** _.”_

_The Commander visibly flinched as her words hit their mark, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “Maker guide you on your mission, Herald,” he said through clenched teeth, and with a mechanical nod, he left._

She scrubbed a gloved hand over her face, wondering if she’d taken it too far, and not for the first time.

_You know it’s better this way. You can’t afford to get attached._

No, she couldn’t afford it, but that wouldn’t stop her heart from taking out a shady loan with a stupidly high interest rate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *"Tel-emas banal ma serannas.": You have nothing to thank me for.
> 
> Credit to FenxShiral for the extraneous Elvhen here, with a minor tweak by me to get the meaning I wanted (hopefully?): A switch from "Tel-emas banal ma abelas." = You have nothing to be sorry for.
> 
> Thanks for your continued readership. The next update is coming soon!


	19. It Can't Rain All The Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra tries to put Gwen in the corner and it doesn't work out too well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I'm shocked there's a new update so soon after the last one too.
> 
> *Quick note (or Squick note, more accurately):  
> Warning for blood, allusion to vomit.

At some point during the night, Gwen fell asleep, though it was the restless kind. After being startled awake a fifth time swearing that she heard skittering noises, she got up to feed the horses instead.

They left the cave shortly after dawn, much to Gwen and Varric’s shared relief, and the rain had slowed from a downpour to a weak drizzle.

Thanks to increased visibility, Gwen could take some time to appreciate the breathtaking beauty of the Storm Coast region. It reminded Gwen, in part, of the dinky coastal hamlet where her parents chose to spend their retirement. The Storm Coast was pretty much only missing the lumberjack/aging hippie/militant vegan element. This coast was also exponentially more wet.

They reached a narrow ravine where they needed to dismount and lead their horses through on foot. Gwen’s numb ass and burning thighs were grateful.

“We are nearly there,” Solas announced from the rear.

“How do you know?” Cassandra inquired with a look over her shoulder.

“The surf. You can hear it,” Gwen said.

The ravine widened and when they rounded a bend, Gwen spotted the Inquisition camp.

Scout Harding approached, as they dismounted, Gwen far less gracefully than everyone else, with every single one of her joints screaming bloody murder at her. More agents joined them, one of them asking Gwen for the reins to her mount, and she handed them over., Harding

Harding hailed Gwen, and saluted as the mounts were led to a makeshift stable. “Welcome to the Storm Coast, Agent Harwood.”

“Is that where we are? Huh, I thought there’d be more, you know, storming,” she mused, giving Harding an exaggerated look of surprise.

“Heh, well, they say the sea air is good for the soul, and I see plenty to admire out here, rain notwithstanding.”

Gwen returned Harding’s wry grin, despite herself. The lovely dwarf’s good cheer was infectious. “True enough. Anything to report?”

“A bit. The mercs you came to see set up camp not far from here, and they headed to the beach a few minutes ago. I have people combing the coast for anything interesting they find. I’ll let you know if th— “

 _BRAKAK-KOOOOOOOOOM_!

Cassandra pushed past Gwen. “What was that? What’s going on?!”

“Some kind of explosion?” Gwen’s guess was as good as the Harding’s at this point, and she certainly hadn’t anticipated whatever was happening down by the water.

 _POOM-POOM-POOM-POOM_!

A series of smaller explosions in close succession had the foursome running for the beach.

“Be careful!” Harding shouted.

Cassandra paused mid-stride, holding Gwen back with her sword arm. Gwen tried to shove the Seeker’s arm out of the way. “We have to get down there now!”

“No, _we_ do not. You will be safer if you remain here.”

Gwen was too stunned to move now. “Remain…What? Are you bloody joking?”

“Not at all. We cannot afford to have you injured again, or worse.” The Seeker turned her dark eyes on Varric. “Keep an eye on her, dwarf.”

Gwen was livid, arms raised in anger. “OH! So it’s alright to for me to get mauled by demons closing rifts, but I need babysitting otherwise?!”

The sight of Cassandra’s retreating back was Gwen’s only reply, with Solas following close behind.

“Un-fucking-believable!”

She huffed angrily and turned her scowl on Varric. “I can’t just stay behind. Not now.”

Varric sighed and cupped her elbow, leading her away from the path. “Come on. Standing here in a snit won’t make you feel any better.”

“Bloody well right it won’t. I—Wait, where are we going?” Gwen blinked down at Varric in confusion, as they were clearly not heading back to the camp.

“The Seeker said to keep an eye on you, but she didn’t say where.”

She spied a familiar landmark --of sorts-- in the form of an oculara poised at the cliff’s edge.

Gwen paused as it sunk in and grinning impishly at the rogue. “You sly, beautiful shit. I could kiss you right now.”

“I know all this is hard to resist, but I am a one-crossbow kind of dwarf, Firecracker.”

She laughed lightly. “I wouldn’t dream of trying to interfere between man and weapon. Now let’s go.”

The approached the oculara and stood at the cliff’s edge, and the scene that greeted them was one of utter pandemonium. Flames licked at longboats lining the shore, and the resulting clouds of thick, black smoke filled the air, obscuring their view of the battle occurring below, even from their high vantage point. Just offshore, Gwen could make out a ship slowly sinking beneath the waves, and averted her eyes from the furious splashing around the doomed vessel that was determined to drag its crew down with it.

“Can you see anything, Varric?”

A strong wind from the southeast lashed at them, and Gwen had to pull her cowl out of her eyes. Thunder rumbled ominously overhead, and the smoke from the longboats changed direction, billowing out over the water revealing the clashing bodies of the combatants on the beach below.

“No, not… wait.” Varric squinted and shaded his eyes.

Gwen caught a glimpse of Cassandra and Solas in the thick of it, but Gwen wasn’t sure enough in her use of magic yet to single out enemy targets in such close quarters with allies.

“Well?”

“I see something. It’s a cart, with... Shit.”

Gwen didn’t need to ask, having noticed the same thing Varric had already: A cart, or more aptly, a big cage with wheels, and it wasn’t empty. She could just make out the cries for help when two ‘Vints slithered away from the main battle. Lightning flickered in the sky, glinting off the weapons they were wielding, one with a sword and shield, the other holding a dagger in each hand. Then a figure in black robes limped after the other two, the three of them making a beeline for the cage, and no one in the main fighting group seemed to notice at all.

Gwen guessed at their intent. “Take out that bloody enchanter first.”

“Easy as pie,” he said with a grin as he took aim and fired.

Seeing the enchanter was out of the way, Gwen made her move. “I’ll stall the other two.”

Before Varric had a chance protest, Gwen flashed down the steep path to the beach, once, twice, and came to a halt in front of them, the only obstacle between them and their prey. A bit winded, she grimaced at the odd scent of smoke and seaweed, staff in hand as the first of many heavy drops of rain fell. They both froze having noticed Gwen’s presence and she stared them down. In the slow seconds to follow Gwen felt a barrier erect itself between her and reality, and she suddenly felt like a voyeur in her own body.

“GWEN!” Varric called frantically, but the sound was drowned out by the cries of the innocents in the cage behind her.

Fury burned inside her, and she automatically knew where to direct it. She lashed outward with her will, sending the warrior fleeing toward the waves in pain and terror smothered in unquenchable flame.

The remaining ‘Vint spat expletives at her, brandished her daggers at Gwen, then flicked her fingers at the ground, disappearing in a puff of smoke.

“All of you will die today, and our master will be overjoyed to know you are dead,” the rogue whispered, her voice seemingly coming from every direction.

The rogue’s mocking laugh sent hint of a shiver traveling up Gwen’s spine, the hairs rising on the back of her neck.

“I will reap the rewards for gifting him with your hand, pretender.” The rogue taunted.

Gwen’s heart pounded a frenzied rhythm against her ribs.

 _Let your will guide you_.

She closed her eyes and sank into herself, letting her will take hold even as she drew from it, weaving it into a tight coil with her fear and anger.

Sounds of Varric, the battle, the crashing of the waves, and the fall of rain went faint as the sound of growing grass. Her mind now fixated in on the rogue’s breath, her adrenaline-fueled heartbeat. A subtle shift in the air and the gentle, almost imperceptible sound of stone scraping against stone.

_There you are._

She opened her eyes and let go of her hold on that ball of energy inside. The space around her exploded violently outward, sending rocks careening through the air, along with the newly visible rogue who hit the ground with a sickening crunch. The ‘Vints rough landing sent one of their daggers flying from into the surf, and they lay dazed and reeling on the ground.

“Kaffas! Broke my arm, you whore!”

Power pulsed through her, and it felt _good_. “Just the one? I’m losing my touch.”

Gwen bared her teeth in a malevolent grin, planting her staff blade through the unbroken arm. She made to kneel and used the rogue’s belly as a cushion, tearing her helm off and tossing it carelessly over one shoulder. She palmed the remaining dagger in her right hand, and gripped the rogue’s jerkin with her left, bringing the blade to woman’s throat as she wrenched her upright with surprising strength.

Gwen looked her in the eye, holding the rogue close enough for their breath to mingle. “The Elder One will join you in the Void soon enough, child,” she heard herself whisper. She drew the dagger easily across the rogue’s throat, the sharp blade easily sliced through muscle, cartilage, and tendons. The rogue gave a wet, panicked gurgle as she tried and failed to draw breath, blood flowing fast and hot from the crimson gash in her neck.

A sense of exultation filled her as she felt the heat of this girl’s blood through her gloves, face freezing in a rictus surprise and fear as the spark of life winked out of her eyes. Gwen relaxed her grip and watched as torso flopped unceremoniously onto the sharp rocks, blood still spilling onto the stones beneath.

Gwen slowly became aware of her surroundings as the sounds of battle dwindled to nothing, leaving behind the sound of waves and whimpers, and the dwarf panicking beside her.

“CHARGERS! Stand down!” A familiar voice bellowed.

_Bull…_

The world came flooding back, bringing feeling with it and Gwen took a shuddering breath, and the full force of what she’d done hit her as she looked at her bloody gloves and the body she was still kneeling on. The dagger clattered to the ground as she scrambled backward, away from the woman whose life she’d just so viciously taken.

_Fuck, what have I done?_

“Shit, Gwen, you had me worried there for a minute.”

The scent of blood, piss, and God knows what else hit her like a truck, the dead eyes of the rogue stared up at her accusingly, one arm still pinned by her mage staff.

 _I’m a monster_ …

Even with panic building inside her, she quietly said to Varric, “Can you get those prisoners freed?”

“You got it, Firecracker. You did good.” He patted her shoulder and strode away.

She grunted in a wordless reply, her head buzzing as she got to her feet and lurched toward the water’s edge

 _That wasn’t good. Good doesn’t do that_.

She just wanted to wash her hands and forget. Instead, when she went to kneel in the water, she was greeted by more of her own work. Gwen hissed at the sight of the Tevinter warrior’s singed body tangled up in kelp, half of the man’s helm having melted away along with the flesh beneath it.

Gorge rose in her throat and she staggered back a few paces from the gruesome sight. She dropped to her knees beside a driftwood log, the surf soaking through her leggings, and emptied the contents of her stomach into the Waking Sea.

* * *

 

“Leave her be, Seeker. She doesn’t need you tearing her a new asshole right now. She isn’t hurt and she saved lives. Take the victory for what it is.”

“I told you to take her back to camp!”

“Now, now, let’s be honest here. You didn’t actually tell me to do that. You just told me to keep an eye on her, which I did.”

“You infuriating little shit.”

“Right back at you, Seeker.”

Gwen listened to the bickering with a heavy heart from her the place she’d occupied for the last hour or so. She wasn’t sure, and she was just trying to scrape herself together inside enough to form one word.

The rain slowed to a drizzle again not long after that. The rain had returned to a drizzle not long after Gwen achieved dry-heave status, but she was still soaked to the bone. She hardly noticed, though, numb as she felt inside and out.

She’d tried rinsing the blood from her gloves as best she could, but she gave up after a short time and threw them into the sea. Things were not going to get any better from this point, and the real stain was the one seared into her soul.

 _Monster. Cruel. Evil. Wicked. Weak. Unworthy_.

Everything sort of hit her at once, from the moment she woke up in Haven’s dungeons up to now, and before today there was still a surreal nature to everything she said and did. And now that her cloak of denial had been stripped away, guilt and shame assailed her without mercy.

 _I can’t do this. I don’t want to be that person. I WON’T be that person. I’m not strong enough_.

She heard hesitant footsteps as someone approached, but she said nothing.

 _Pull yourself together, girl. You have work to do_.

Whoever it was behind her still hadn’t spoke, though they came close enough to slide a flask over her left shoulder.

“Go on and sip some of that. Should help with the shock a little.”

 _Bull_ , she realized.

“Your friends over there are still fighting like an old married couple, except the elf. He’s helping the freed captives find someplace to rest back at your camp. I noticed no one was checking on you and figured I’d take the job. Been through enough shit to see when someone’s not used to combat.”

She took hold of the flask, still silent.

“Name’s the Iron Bull, in case you were wondering. You come talk to me when you’re ready.”

She heard him start walking away, and rasped, “Stay.”

“Sure.” He grunted as he sat on a boulder opposite the log she was half-clinging to.

His presence alone was comforting, and he seemed okay with sitting in silence with a stranger. Eventually, though, it seemed he got a little tired of the quiet, and started telling her little things about himself. Favorite foods, his semi-secret adoration of dawnstone, or how he missed horn balm. His voice was like a warm blanket wrapping itself around her heart. When he got to talking about how he chose his name, she finally spoke.

“The article is everything,” she said, almost smiling. Almost.

He let out a short laugh. “Good. You get it already. Go ahead and sip that flask. It’s good stuff.”

Though she trusted Iron Bull from the game, she couldn’t be sure of this version of him. Hell, she hadn’t even looked at him yet. She just kept her eyes on the churning waters of the sea.

“How do I know you’re not poisoning me?”

“Good question. You don’t.”

She sipped anyway and it burned all the way down, but helped get the sour taste out of her mouth. She must’ve made some kind of noise because Bull was chuckling.

“Not used to the rough stuff, huh?”

Her response was automatic, “Oh, you have no idea.” She did smile then. Not a toothy smile, but a smile all the same. She wasn’t sure why, but having him to talk to reminded her more like the person she was, and less like a monster. Gwen finally turned to look at him and return his flask.

She didn’t just stare. She gawked.

He had the same horns she was familiar with, same hideous striped-pants, and the one bright eye, which was fixed on her, missing nothing. His expression was open, his pose was relaxed, but she knew he was well-practiced with his mellow façade. What she hadn’t anticipated, and what really had her staring, were the ways he was different physically from his pixel-personality. This version of Bull boasted a longer beard and a long braid of thick, dark hair trailing over his right shoulder. Darker scars and gouges scored his grey skin, and he had multiple piercings. She wondered offhand if he had any piercings down… Never mind.

“Wow,” was the best her brain could supply her with. Then she realized she said it aloud when his smile got bigger, and a little predatory.

“Hi,” he said simply.

For a man still covered in gore, the fact that he put her at ease with just the one word was lightly intimidating. He wiped at his face with the back of one beefy forearm, succeeding only in smearing the mess around a bit.

Gwen cheeks grew warm when she realized she was _still_ staring. “Sorry, so, um, well… You’re looking for work?”

_You are so unbelievably smooth. Lol no..._

Bull’s lips twitched. “Yeah, but I’m still waiting on my drink. Battle like that makes a man thirsty.” His eye slid from her face to the flask then back.

Her eyes widened and she swallowed hard, then it hit her. “Oh. Oh!”

 _Subtle_.

She held his flask out, feeling like a jackhole for monopolizing it.

“Heh, I didn’t mean this stuff. This is from my company healer. He does good work.” He took the flask from her hand anyway. “So you’re with the Inquisition, huh? That, uh, Herald of Andraste, right? That was pretty amazing, what you did to those Vints. Kinda scary though, no offense.”

She gave him an incredulous look.

 _This coming from an 8-foot-ish, giant axe-wielding Qunari spy_.

“You’re one to talk.” She looked him up and down then nodded at the axe handle visible over his shoulder.

His chuckle, deep and gravelly, made her stomach do flip-flops of a more pleasant variety. “I know, right?” Then he smiled at her, shark-like, revealing a gold tooth. “So, you gotta name, or am I just supposed to call you Herald or whatever?”

“Oh, ha. Yes, I’d prefer if you’d just call me Gwen.”

“Gwen, huh? Good to know.” Then he shouted over her head, “Krem! Gimme an update!”

Krem swaggered over with his helm tucked under one arm.

Then Bull said in an aside to Gwen, “I assume you remember my lieutenant, Cremisius Aclassi?”

“I do,” Gwen replied.

Krem nodded down at her. “Glad you made it out here.” He looked at Bull and continued. “Stitches is tending the wounded. Rocky’s the worst off, the voided idiot almost got himself blown to pieces and drowned this time. He can still walk though, just a few burns, but not from fire if you can believe it. Got out of the water with jellyfish clinging his arse. Dalish knows enough to help out with that, so Stitches said he’d be lending a hand with the captives that are alive and well too, thanks to her, er, the Herald I mean. Apologies ma’am. They can’t stop talking about how the Herald of Andraste answered their prayers.”

Krem grinned at her then, and Gwen went from picturing a dwarf with a jellyfish on his ass to being plain annoyed. She just rolled her eyes.

“Good. That’s what I like to hear.”

“Oh, and the throatcutters are done too, Chief.”

Gwen felt a frest wave of nausea at the mention of throat-cutting.

“Already? Hm, make ‘em check again. I don’t want any of those Tevinter bastards getting away. No offense.”

“None taken, Chief. At least a bastard knows who his mother was. Point to me.”

“Ouch, Krem. I’m crying on the inside,” Bull said with poorly feigned hurt.

Gwen smiled at their display of camaraderie.

“So, Gwen, now you’ve seen us fight. We’re expensive, but we’re worth it, and I’m sure the Inquisition can afford us.”

“I’ve no doubt about that. Looks like a damn good company.”

“They are, but you’re not just getting the boys,” he said.

Gwen was rising to her feet, albeit a bit unsteadily with her legs half-asleep. Strong arms caught her before she keeled over, and suddenly she had an eyeful of Qunari chest as Bull drew her up. Her cowl fell back as she craned her neck to look up at him, his voice deepening as he said, “You’re getting me.”

_Oh, fuckbeans… Knees, don’t you dare turn to jelly now. Don’t. You. Fucking. Do. It._

“You need a frontline bodyguard, I’m your man.”

_Oh, hell…_

It felt awfully humid to Gwen all of a sudden. Was her armor steaming?

“Whatever it is – Demons, dragons? The bigger the better.”

He let go of her carefully, as if to make sure she could stand on her own first. She felt so utterly small beside him, and she almost leaned into him as his arms fell away. She had a sudden urge to throw herself into the Waking Sea.

 _Asshole hormones_.

She was going to blame her reaction to Bull on whatever concoction Stitches had put in that flask. And stress. A lot of stress.

“There is one thing, though. Might be useful, or it might piss you off. You ever hear of the Ben-Hassrath?”

She blinked, paying attention to his words, no really, and nodded affirmatively. “Yes.”

“Well, uh, how much do you know?”

“A Qunari agency that serves as both internal police and intelligence gathering.”

His eye narrowed a fraction. “You from up north?”

 _Shit. Too much_. _If you weren’t already playing dumb, you would’ve known to play dumb, dummy!_

“Uh, no. Far west.”

“Huh…” he studied her all the more intensely, and she knew she should’ve kept her mouth shut.

“I did live up north for a time, though. Learned a lot.”

“Oh, right. I think I get it now. And your reaction to the captives. Must’ve been satisfying getting a little revenge on those Vint assholes, eh?”

_Crap. He thinks you were a slave?_

“Well, more because I’m an apostate and I had to move around. A lot.”

“Right, right. Explains the accent.” He cleared his throat.

“Yes, my accent,” she said lamely.

“So, anyway, I’m Ben-Hassrath,” he inserted casually. “We’re concerned about the Breach. Magic out of control like that could cause trouble everywhere. So, my orders are to join the Inquisition, get close to the people in charge, and send reports on whatever is going on.”

“Good to know. I value honesty in people.”

“That’s not everything. I get reports from other agents all over Orlais. Sign me on, and I’ll share ‘em with your people, no problem.”

“Yeah, but how valuable are the reports you get going to be to us?” She had to ask some questions, or Bull would get suspicious, if he wasn’t already. He almost certainly was.

“Whether it’s about enemy movements, suspicious activity, or gossip related to the Grand Game, if your spymaster’s worth a damn, she’ll know how to put whatever information I pass on to good use.”

“Did some digging already, I take it?”

“I’d be pretty shitty at my job if I didn’t. Besides, I’ve always had a thing for redheads.”

[ _Iron Bull Intensifies_ ]

His eye bore into her as a chuckle rumbled deep in his chest and he purred, “Redheads.”

“Throatcutters are done, Chief!”

Gwen startled out of the slightly hypnotic state she’d been in, so damn grateful for Krem’s interruption that she almost hugged the man.

“So, what do you say, Gwen?”

“I say…welcome to the Inquisition, the Iron Bull.”

Bull beamed down at her and Gwen she couldn’t help but smile back, then shouted over her head (again), “Alright, boys! Get your asses back to camp and pack up! THE CHARGERS JUST GOT HIRED!”

Krem could be heard over the cheers of the Chargers, “Chief! What about that casks? We already opened ‘em up! WITH AXES!”

Bull snorted. “You’re Tevinter! Try blood magic!”

Gwen could _hear_ Krem’s scowl. “Ass!”

“Hey, we’re professionals! Act like it!”

Krem raised two fingers up at Bull in a split finger salute, then started herding the Chargers, all sassing aside.

As Bull started to walk away, Gwen felt her panic from earlier start to rise again.

 _Don’t. Not now. Not ever. This is NOT the time_.

Then Bull stopped and turned back to look at her as he said, “We’ll meet you back at Haven and escort those folks you rescued where they wanna go. Unless you want me to stick around?”

She hadn’t realized she been digging her fingernails into her palms when she looked up, that all-too-knowing eye seeing her bare bones. She was vulnerable. That much was clear to her. She couldn’t be sure of his intentions for the Inquisition, and the last thing she needed was to grow dependent on someone’s presence.

So, reach a good middle-ground?

“Stick with me, erm, us until we get to Highever, then you can head to Haven with the rest.”

“Not a problem, Boss,” he said with a wink. “I’ll just let my boys know what’s going on.”

 _Out of the frying pan_ …

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If any of this comes off as confusing, etc., please don't be afraid to leave comments. This chapter is maybe a rough ride. 
> 
> Also, I kind of liked the idea of having a more "concept art" version of Bull, because I can. You can, of course, imagine him however you like, but because he's such a colorful dude, I wanted to have that show a little more on the outside.
> 
> Thanks for reading/kudos/subs, etc.! Every single one is like a baby angel laughing in the cockles of my heart. <3


	20. I'm So Tired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen is filled with inner-turmoil and just can't seem to catch a break. Emojis. Plus, Varric is a nosy shit (but a lovable nosy shit.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, it's an update! I know. I'm surprised too!
> 
> *Not beta'd, etc. Bless!

With Bull gone for the moment, Gwen found herself blessedly alone. The cheerful banter of those cleaning up the battlefield felt much like nails on a chalkboard sounded to her at the moment: Any form of happiness was so at odds with the turbulence of her thoughts that it made her cringe. Her mind had more in common with the churning waters of the Waking Sea, and she would be perfectly content to sit on this cold rock for the remainder of her life, just watching the waves rather than contemplate the fresh stain on her soul.

Any warmth provided by whatever concoction Bull had supplied her with earlier was rapidly dissipating, and the observation that clothes completely soaked with a combination of rain, seawater, and blood were quite the opposite of comfortable.  Every exposed bit of skin had grown numb with cold, and she welcomed it. She would use the cold to encase all the trapped emotion she still feared to analyze. If she’d not rushed in and planned it, she might’ve shielded herself from the elements, but she hadn’t been thinking of herself. Nor like herself, in all honesty.

 _Yeah, hey, let’s not talk about how you felt like a prisoner in your own body. You’ve got other things to worry about, right? Just chalk that up to depersonalization. Stop wasting time feeling sorry for yourself. Get your shit together and remember there are people in this world suffering more than you at this very moment. You’re alive and whole. That’s what matters_.

“You know, if you have that pensive look on your face because of what Cassandra was yelling about earlier…”

Gwen released undignified yelp. “GAH! Varric!” She gave a startled laugh and swatted his shoulder lightly.

“Hey! Ow! I bruise easy.” He tried to use the pout again.

She looked at him in disbelief, not buying his hurt face for a second. She snorted and rolled her eyes. “You should wear a bell or something.”

“I’d be a terrible rogue if I did that.” He smirked.

Gwen harrumphed in reply.

“Now I asked you a question before you began beating on me,” Varric said with an added sniffle for dramatic effect.

“No, you didn’t.”

Varric sat beside her with a heavy sigh. “You know, as a writer, I pride myself on my observational skills. For example, I know you’ve spent the last few days in some inexplicably dour mood that — I am not joking when I say this — would put a certain elf I know to shame. Now here you are, wrapped in an aura of broodiness viscous enough to wade through, so I feel compelled to ask: What’s going on with you? And please, don’t insult my intelligence by telling me you’re ‘ _fine_.’”

Gwen met Varric’s steady gaze with her own. “Nothing’s going on with me, Varric.”

“Bullshit.” He frowned. “I deal with the damn Merchant’s Guild on a regular basis. Don’t think I didn’t notice what you did there, missy.”

She shrugged and looked back out at the water.

The dwarf shook his head and grunting as he stood up. “Look, I get it. Just know that if, and when, you need to talk, I make a pretty decent listener. At least that’s what Hawke would tell me when he was three sheets to the wind.”

She huffed a laugh and gave him a sidelong glance. “You’ll be the first to hear any confessions of my innermost thoughts and feelings, Varric.”

 _But not without getting an ironclad contract where you would promise never to utter or write a word about anything I said without my explicit permission_.

She slid of the rock onto her feet, fruitlessly dusting Maker-knows-what off her wet leather coat.

 _At least it’s not suede_ …

“I’ll consider that a verbal contract,” he said.

Gwen took one step, however, and sucked in a sharp breath when the muscles in her low back protested. Vigorously. “Damn horseback riding. Damn Tevinter slavers. Damn bloody Breach. And fuck bloody getting old,” she rasped. She’d walk with a limp (well, even more of a limp) and sit (more) uncomfortably for a while if she didn’t deal with the muscle spasm.

Varric’s eyes practically reached up to his hairline, then he laughed. “I concur, though you still look pretty young -- for a human. You should also know, being a youngster as you are, that you can’t complain about getting old until you’re at least 30.”

She ignored her sudden urge to feed Varric a knuckle sandwich for using the word ‘youngster.’ To her, it was a crime on par with using ‘beverage’ or ‘moist’ conversationally. She suppressed a shudder at the mere presence of those words in her mind, and the snail-like trail they left behind.

“I’ll keep that in mind for the next time,” she said sourly, scanning the beach.

_Left your staff out where anyone could take it. Good job. Idjit. What would Cullen think of you losing the weapon he so generously upgraded for you? Do you even care?_

“So you’re 30?”

 _Oh, fuck what Cullen thinks. I’m still pissed at him. I should really stop arguing with myself_.

“What? No.” She scoffed, at herself more than Varric’s line of inquiry. Now if she could just find the body of the ‘Vint where she parked her staff…

_Wow, you are one classy asshole. A classhole, even. Way to ignore the ugliness around you by making tasteless jokes. Go-go Dirtbag brain! And you’re still arguing with yourself, btw._ _d( ~ w ^ )b_

The method had worked successfully for her in the past, and she didn’t see a need to change her ways. One thing she knew was that her Catholic-guilt complex was in full swing, given the tone of her internal monologue. Varric had been throwing numbers out in the air to see if she’d take the bait whilst she fought with her inner demons. Or her inner asshole, at least.

She blinked down at him and interrupted his guessing game. “Why are you so keen to know how old I am all of a sudden? Did Leliana put you up to this.” She narrowed her eyes at him when another thought occurred to her. “Or do you have some gold riding on the outcome?”

“What? Me? Gamble at your expense? Never,” he denied feebly.

A bet then. “How big is the pot, Varric?”

He studied his gloved knuckles intently. “Just a hundred sovereigns or so.”

“How ‘old’ did you put me at?”

“Well… Taking into consideration your reaction to, uh, Ser Walker’s poor estimation when we were in the Hinterlands, and going by my incredible instincts, I put you at 32?”

“Hmm, interesting,” she said tonelessly.

“You know, with a ‘Grace face like yours, it’s a shame you stink at the game.”

“Another thing to add to my growing list of shame. Speaking of which, I really don’t want to deal with Cassandra if she’s still, you know...” Gwen made claws of her hands and bared her teeth.

Varric chuckled. “You should’ve seen the look on her face when she heard the Iron Bull shout they were hired, by the way. I didn’t think that shade of red could be found in nature.”

“What? Why is she mad about that?”

“Something about how you promised to include her in the decision, then didn’t.”

“Oh, like she’s one to talk? She didn’t confer with me or respect my opinion before she ran off into battle earlier.”

“Exactly, which is something Solas reminded her of.”

“And?”

“Then she complained about the fact that the Iron Bull is a Qunari spy. She talked to the guy, then Solas managed to calm her down before he went to look at another one of those creepy skulls.”

“Oh. Well, good.”

“Yeah, she actually looked contrite afterward, if you can believe it. Last I saw, she was helping people you saved— “

“ _We_ saved,” Gwen corrected.

“Fine. Cassandra and a couple of the Chargers are removing the chains from the people _we_ saved,” Varric conceded.

The mercenary in question met them at the base of the path leading to camp moments later. The Qunari was holding Gwen’s staff gingerly in his massive hands and she felt a flood of relief that it hadn’t been stolen.

“Here, take this thing,” Bull said with a shudder.

She did, and slid it into its harness on her back and the three of them continued together up the path. She bit back a smile when she noticed Bull wiping his hands off on his pants.

“Thanks. I was a little worried I’d lost it or something.”

“Or something? What? Think the ‘Vint you stuck it in used some blood magic so they could steal it, Firecracker?” Varric teased.

“Wouldn’t put it past ‘em,” Bull muttered.

They’d reached the raven cages, and Gwen noted the number of people in camp had easily quadrupled, though some were the rescued captives freed of their chains. Most sat under canopies, huddled around a fire. Cassandra was sitting with one group, all of them with their heads bowed in prayer.

“You weren’t kidding. Cassandra looks almost serene,” Gwen observed.

“Yeah. Me and the Seeker had a little chat. She threatened me with bodily harm or worse if I ever betray the Inquisition or allow any harm to come to ‘our Herald,’ was how she put it. I told her I wouldn’t have it any other way. It was a good talk.

“Gave my guys orders to escort those folks you saved back to Haven when they’re ready, by the way. Seems most of ‘em are eager to sign up after what you did for them. All but the kids.”

Fuck, there were children in that cage? She couldn’t fathom how people could commit such heinous crimes against one another. Still, she hadn’t been alone. Hell, aside from taking the enchanter out of the equation, Varric was the one who picked the damn lock and literally freed them.

“We all had a hand in helping those people.”

“No one else put themselves physically between those people and the ‘Vints who were going to slaughter them.”

“If the Seeker had seen you on that beach, Gwen, I think she would have used her inside voice much, much sooner. You were, uh, intense down there.” Varric shuddered.

“Yeah. Kinda scary, but hot at the same time,” Bull mused.

“That one ‘Vint was definitely hot.”

“On fire, you might say.”

Gwen rounded on them, her cheeks hot with anger and shame. “Are the both of you finished?”

“M’sorry.”

“Sorry, Gwen.”          

“Anything else I should know?” Gwen asked, desperate for a change of subject.

“Oh, and, uh, I also have my guys sticking around long enough to clean up the mess those slavers made on the beach.”

Okay, so the subject didn’t change entirely. She’d take it anyway. “Well, that’s good.”

“Now I’m all yours.”

The combination of the look Bull gave Gwen and the tone of his voice at that precise moment made her mouth run dry, and sent a solid shiver up her spine. She started kicking herself inwardly.

_You had a fucking meltdown of epic proportions a not long ago and now this? What is your damage, woman? Have you no shame? Control yourself!_

Scout Harding came jogging up, slightly out of breath. “Herald, I’ve got some news you’re not gonna like.”

Gwen wanted to hug the woman for interrupting, but she restrained herself. “What’s going on?”

“Some of the scouts I sent out before you arrived? Well, they’re late reporting back.”

Gwen’s heart sank into her stomach, already aware of what had likely become of those scouts, but she asked anyway, “How late?”

“Enough to make me bring this to you. Some of them came back, but the group I sent up the hill to the west of here should have returned long before the rest.”

 _Fuck. Well, maybe you won’t be too late, right? So many things are turning out a little different, maybe this will too, and you can save even more people today_. _Better to get right into the next task than wallow in your kiddie-pool of despair_.

Her brain made a good point, so she shoved all thoughts of herself aside. “This can’t wait. Let the Seeker know I’m heading in that direction with Varric and Bull, and why. We’ll find out what’s held them up.”

Gwen started walking toward the steep path without waiting to see if anyone would follow her. Part of her honestly didn’t care if they did or not.

“Will do. And Agent?”

She paused and but didn’t turn around. “Yes?”

“Maker be with you.”

Gwen nodded, and started up the hill with Varric and Bull in tow. She was grateful for the fact that they followed without questioning her. Even better that they weren’t speaking to her (or at all) for the time being.

As they climbed the rocky path upward, Gwen mulled over what they might possibly find in those abandoned shacks. Were their scouts already dead, as it had always been when she’d just been playing a game in another life? Maybe they were still alive? She hoped they were. She’d reached her quota on death for the day.

For a few minutes, the only sounds were the echoes of the Inquisition camp and footsteps crunching in the gravelly path.

Varric broke through the ambient noise to attempt to strike up a conversation with Bull. “So, the Iron Bull.”

“That’s my name.”

“You’re Ben Hassrath, is that right? The ‘spies’ of the Qunari.”

“Oh, you’ve heard of us?”

 “I spent some time in Kirkwall…”

“That must’ve been fun.”

“Yeah, you could say that.”

The silence returned, and the level of awkwardness, at least in Gwen’s perception, had gone up a couple notches. The familiarity of their banter brought a ghost of a smile to Gwen’s lips, reminding her of home. Home. A place that faded more and more with each passing day.

Soon enough, the group reached the crest of the hill, and from there Gwen spied the nearest dilapidated hovel. Her knees complained with crunching noises as she crouched down and took cover behind a large tree. She gave the dense wood a cursory glance, pine and windblown cypress trees fighting for dominance in the eternally soggy soil. She wished she had more time to appreciate the beauty of this place, especially without her allergies bugging her.

Varric ducked another tree near Gwen’s, and Bull knelt down to one side of her, ducking down low. She might have chosen a tree with a decently thick trunk, but it wouldn’t hide Bull’s prominent horns. Anyone who’d been looking might take notice of branches that didn’t quite look like branches. With luck, no one was paying much attention.

Gwen peered out from behind her tree and the broken down stable not far off, and the ladder attached to it. “Varric,” she whispered, “Think you can get up that ladder over there and see what you can see?”

“Sure thing,” he replied softly before vanishing from sight.

Knowing that she was no rogue and that Varric was the best candidate for the job of scouting among the three of them. The fact that people here could do _that_ : Just disappear in broad daylight without using ‘magic’ was something Gwen found incredibly weird. Sure, she knew that Varric was better suited to the task of scouting with his particular skill set, but that didn’t make it any less creepy that he was like a baby _Yautja*_.

_Only you. Seriously. What an incredible, fucking nerd. Why don’t you just yell, “GET TO THE CHOPPAH! KILL MEH! KILL MEH NAO!”_

“And people think mages are scary when rogues do shit like that. I don’t get it,” she whispered, bemused.

Bull huffed, a crooked grin on his lips. “Good point,” he said quietly. “Though let’s be honest; Rogues don’t fling fireballs from their fingertips.”

“They would if they could, I bet. I mean, I’m sure there must be rogue-mages, or mage-rogues. Mogues?” She shrugged.

Bull’s shoulders shook with silent laughter, and Gwen felt warmth in her cheeks, desperately hating that she turned red even at the most innocuous things, which only made it worse. In this case, however, she figured she must’ve sounded like an imbecile with her non-sequitur babble.

Her knees weren’t going to last much longer with her balancing on the balls of her feet, which wearing stiff leather boots made more difficult.

“So all I could see down there were a few corpses, but none of them were wearing Inquisition uniforms.”

Gwen jolted in surprise, and her grip on her tree slipped. She nearly toppled face first into Bull’s lap, but the Qunari caught her with disgusting ease. “Look, I know I’m impressive, but you don’t have to throw yourself at me. Stop by my tent later if you want.”

Gwen bristled at the laughter in Bull’s voice, scowling darkly as she disentangled herself from his arms. “I doubt you could handle me if I did,” she retorted, unthinking.

Bull stood up, pulling Gwen with him, and Gwen quickly put space between herself and the Qunari, absolutely refusing to think about the fact that her bare hands had been on his bare chest. Ignoring the smug smirk on Bull’s face wasn’t helping her feel any less flustered, either.

_GodDAMMIT!_

“Anyway, back on topic,” she said with and irritable edge in her voice. “Let’s see what we can find, but be careful. The previous occupants might have left traps or something behind.”

“I’ll take point,” Varric said. “These nimble fingers are excellent with traps.

Gwen nodded curtly, following Varric as they entered the clearing cautiously, weapons at the ready. When they neared the only shack with a door still attached, Varric signaled for them to stop. He’d spotted someone or something through missing wooden slats of one wall.

Bull and Gwen took up positions on either side of the door as she cast a barrier over everyone. Gwen looked at Varric with her hand on the doorknob and he nodded. She turned the knob and the door swung open with a loud creak, the glow of her staff illuminating an armored figure hunched over a body at the rear of the shack.

“I couldn’t save them. I didn’t reach them in time,” the figure said thickly, their deep voice full of regret.

When the man sat back on his heels, Gwen got a better view of his armor and he turned his head just enough for her to see part of the man’s bearded jaw. The griffon helm. The impossible beard. It had to be…

“Blackwall…”

He turned to look at her as he got to his feet, his sad blue eyes piercing her soul, “How do you know my name?”

She realized then that she’d said his name aloud, and her brain scrambled for an answer.

_Think fast, idiot. TICK TOCK!_

“The, er, griffons,” she said, pointing to his helm and breastplate.

_Well done! Now don’t screw it up!_

“Unless you just really like griffons, which is possible, but since we were looking for a Grey Warden by the name of Blackwall…”

 _You’re babbliiiii~ng_.

Blackwall’s eyes went from sad to stormy in a blink as he stalked toward her, one hand on the hilt of his sword. “Who are you, and what do you want with me?”

Within a split second, Gwen found her back up against the door with one of Bull’s arms holding her there firmly as his massive body blocked Blackwall from view.

“Whatever you’re thinking, you better stop thinking it,” Bull said. Though she couldn’t see his face, she could almost hear the forced smile stretching across it, and she definitely picked up on the note of menace.

“Now, now. Let’s keep this civil.” Varric said, ever the mediator. The dwarf easily slipped in through a hole in the wall, keeping Bianca trained on Blackwall.

“Gentlemen, please. I would ask that everyone lower their weapons. The Warden deserves an answer to his question.”

Gwen placed one hand gently on Bull’s back, and he stepped aside enough that she could speak to Blackwall, but not so far that he couldn’t immediately return to his protective position.

“So, who are you and how do you know my name?” Blackwall asked again, his eyes wary.

“My name is Gwen. I’m an agent of the Inquisition, and we were searching for some of our missing scouts, and— “

“We know what happened to our scouts, now,” Varric interrupted, looking up from the body Blackwall had been bent over to glare at him.

“Varric.” It was a warning.

“Herald,” the dwarf replied, resting Bianca on his shoulder.

 _Oh, you little shit_.

Blackwall stared at her then, eyes full of doubt. “Wait. The Inquisition? And Herald? _You’re_ the Herald of Andraste?”

Gwen sighed and opened her mouth to answer, only Varric’s voice came out instead.

“The one and only,” he said, presenting Gwen with a flourish.

“You sure? I heard she’s supposed to be tall as a giant, and fierce as a dragon.”

_┻━┻彡 ヽ(_ _ಠД_ _ಠ)ノ彡_ _┻━┻_

She didn’t know why it bothered her at all, or why the stories about her made her want to rage. Gwen just knew she was not a happy bunny. Right then, she was more akin to the bunny from Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Underestimated for a multitude of reasons to the misfortune of many an adventurer. For the sake of everyone around her, she tried to rein herself in.

“Where in the bloody fuck are these stories coming from?”

_Well, that should keep Blackwall from ever putting your flabby ass on a pedestal, eh?_

“You know how people talk and stories sprea…d?”

Gwen’s head swiveled, melting Varric’s flimsy explanation under the heat of her fulminating glare. “Really, Varric? I can only imagine what _Hawke_ must actually look like if I’m being described as a ‘giant dragony tree thing.’”

“Just trying to help build the legend,” the dwarf mumbled, suddenly looking like a kicked puppy.

 _Damn it. I can’t stay angry at him_.

She sighed in resignation. “Not helping, dear heart.”

Varric gave her the puppy eyes again, and she looked at him apologetically.

 _The puppy eyes worked. He will never forget_.

“Right, so even if you’re the Herald, that still doesn’t explain how you know my name or why you were looking for me.”

She turned her attention back to Blackwall. “The Inquisition is seeking you because there is a question as to where your fellow Wardens have gone. There was a report that a Grey Warden by the name of Blackwall was sighted in the Hinterlands not long ago, and I was asked to locate you, if possible, and see if you could tell us where the Wardens are to absolve their order of any suspicion regarding the timing of their disappearance in relation to the death of the Divine.”

“Maker’s balls, the Grey Wardens and the Divine?” Blackwall sputtered in disbelief. “That isn’t—there’s no way—no, you’re asking so you can’t know. First, I didn’t know they’d disappeared. That’s just the way of it, right? Wardens are forgotten once a Blight’s over and done with. Second, no Warden killed the Divine. Our purpose isn’t political.”

 _Oh, no. Never political. You know more about the Order than this poor bloke_ , she thought, the irony thick enough to choke on.

“Not blaming anyone yet.

“If Cassandra were here, she probably would,” Varric muttered under his breath, but not quietly enough to keep Gwen from hearing him.

She covered her mouth with the back of her hand for a moment to suppress a smile before she continued. “I understand if you can’t tell me everything in regards to Warden business, ser, but I just need to know if you’ve seen any of your brethren at all recently. It would put some minds at ease.”

“I’ve not seen any Wardens for months at least. Spend most of my time recruiting alone, to be honest, and little enough of that with the Archdemon a decade dead. And with no Blight, there’s no need to conscript.”

Gwen noticed how Blackwall had some difficulty meeting her eyes when he spoke about the Wardens. She knew why, of course, but she found she could relate to his plight after a fashion. She was keeping a lot of secrets from the Inquisition. Hell, most people were, Varric and Solas among them. She was exhausted at having to keep up her charade. She wondered if she’d be able to get Blackwall to tell the truth about himself before it became a huge issue for the Inquisition? Probably not.

“Well, if that’s all you know, I have nothing more to ask you. We have to see to our people here. You have the gratitude of the Inquisition for trying to help them. We won’t keep you from your duties any longer, Ser Warden.”

 Bull and Varric had begun examining the bodies of the fallen while Gwen talked with Blackwall. She found she couldn’t look at them without feeling a pang of guilt. Such young faces. The rogue she’d killed on the beach looked so damn young, and it tore at her. The memory of blood gushing from their neck made her head swim, and she pressed the heel of one hand to her forehead.

She swallowed roughly and said, “I’ll be just outside for a moment. I need a breath of air.”

“We’ve got this, Firecracker.”

“Yeah, Boss. Just yell if you need us.”

She stepped out into the misty air, then stopped next to a mossy pile of firewood that reached up to her neck. She leaned forward with her hands on her knees, willing her panic to back the fuck off. Heavy footsteps sounded behind her, approaching slowly.

“Agent? Are you alright?”

She stood and took a fortifying breath as she turned to Blackwall. “As well as I can be with the chaos in this world,” she said, unable to keep her grim thoughts from coloring her voice.

Blackwall pulled his helm off and laid it on the pile of wood, revealing dark hair, matted with sweat and rain, though greying at the temples, and long enough in back to be secured at his nape with a leather thong. She could also see now what the semi-darkness of the shack hid of his features, as the light from her staff was not particularly bright. A well-lined face, but still handsome, with streaks of grey in his forked beard that matched his temples. And in one earlobe had attached to it an earring: A monogrammed silver (or silverite maybe?) Griffon-rampant clutching an obsidian stone in its beak.

Blackwall sighed wearily, his eyes rueful when they met hers. “There is so much in our broken world that needs fixing. Seems to me that you’re doing what you can to make it right. The Inquisition, that is.”

“We’re trying,” she said quietly, the increasing intensity of his gaze made her nervous enough to search for something neutral to look at instead.

“The sky is torn. The Divine is dead. Times like these, everyone should be coming together and the Wardens are no exception. I don’t know where the others have gone: Weisshaupt, the Deep Roads, it doesn’t matter. I wish I knew more, truly. I do know that thinking we’re absent is just as bad as thinking we’re involved. I can’t tell you where the other Wardens have gone, but maybe, I don’t know. You found one Warden, and perhaps that’s all you need. Do you… Would you have need of me?”

She looked down at her feet, suppressing a smile. “The Inquisition could certainly use all the support we can muster, but tell me, what can a single Grey Warden do?”

 _Yeah, I had to_.

“Save the fucking world, if pressed. I mean, you’ve heard the stories, right? Two of us saved Ferelden.”

Her inner-withering fangirl squealed just a little. Her reply was a tamer than her thoughts. “Only after gathering a good number of allies.”

“I’ll give you that one,” he chuckled. “But if you need proof of my skill as a warrior, the sorry bastards you see on the ground were downed by my blade. Sadly, not in time to help your people, to my shame. These bandits are no demons, but still,” he said with a shrug.

It wasn’t as if Gwen was going to tell Blackwall no, but the fact that the man had taken at least five or six people on his own from what she could see was impressive.

“There’s also our treaties, which many will honor, Blight or no. The Wardens hold respect in many nations.”

She turned to him then, holding out her right hand, “Then, Warden Blackwall, the Inquisition would be honored to accept your offer.”

He took her hand and clasped it firmly in his own. “Good. Thank you, my lady. I’ve kept to myself for too long, and I can’t think of a better way to find out what’s going on while doing some good.”

“I’m no lady, ser.”

“And I’m no ser.”

… _halp_ …

“Hey, Gwen?” Varric’s voice carried out of the shack. “We found something that could be useful. You should come take a look.”

 _Thank blessed Andraste_.

Blackwall released Gwen’s hand, and she hadn’t noticed how cold hers were until he let go. “Come on then, Blackwall. This is the closest you’ll get to an orientation.”

The warrior chuckled and followed her into the shack, where Varric stood holding something shiny, while Bull flipped through the pages of a book.

“So,” Bull said as he looked up from the book, “the assholes who took out our scouts call themselves ‘The Blades of Hessarian.’ The necklace that Varric is holding came off one of ‘em. Looks like we can use that as a visible sign that we want to challenge their leader. Do that and win, and maybe get ‘em to back off.”

Blackwall skimmed through another book on the floor, speckled in blood. “These people go by a code. If they’re honorable, they’ll follow it. So perhaps we gain eyes on the coast, and not just have them backing down.”

“We?” Varric looked at Gwen with a questioning eyebrow.

She lifted her chin and smirked. “The Warden has joined the Inquisition.”

“Andraste’s ass,” the dwarf said with a laugh. “How many have you recruited today, Gwen?”

“I didn’t recruit him. He asked to help and I accepted. And we hired the Chargers, so that technically doesn’t count.”

“What about those folks you rescu—“

“Nope,” she said, cutting Varric off. “That doesn’t count either. So, do we know where these Blades of Hessarian are holed up?”

Bull was laughing quietly in the background, and Varric just shook his head at the obvious shift in subjects.

Blackwall answered the question, “Spotted a fort west of here while I was searching for some old Warden artifacts. I imagine that’s probably where we want to go.”

She plucked the amulet from Varric’s hands. “Right then. Let’s make this already long day even longer and find these bandits. Oh and you can come too, beardy. If you want.”

“Beardy?” Blackwall asked, stroking his mane self-consciously for a moment before slipping his helmet back on.

Gwen snorted and walked out of the cabin, heading for the path she knew would lead them to the rear of the Blades’ fort. “You boys coming or what?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Yautja is the term for the species from the "Predator" franchise, because I am seriously that big of a nerd. Sometimes.
> 
> I wasn't originally going to end the chapter where I did, but it just seemed natural. Another unexciting (and wow long) chapter, but I necessary to set later parts of the story in motion. Again, I thank you beautiful readers for your support. It's been almost a year since I started this thing. Good grief... For everyone who's stuck with me that long, and those who are newer to Gwen and her funky brain, thank you so much for reading, commenting, subscribing, etc.
> 
> Don't be too shy to come find me on tumblr! evillyte.tumblr.com or for purely Dragon Age stuff, mmesnappysnips.tumblr.com!


	21. I'm On A Boat?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen tries a new spell or two, with mixed success and does something rash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was going to be longer, but the latter half is so very different that I split them. So this is a shorter update, but on the bright side, y'all won't have to wait so long for the following chapter! Yay!
> 
> *Also, not beta'd, so mistakes are mine and I apologize profusely for them.

Gwen limped quietly along, deep in thought as her group made their way to the Blades’ fort. Her low back burned with every step, growing worse as they started downhill, and she’d begun using her staff as a walking stick so she wouldn’t slip. She yawned and scowled, her lack of sleep the night before catching up with her and that combined with all her aches and pains made her feel twice her age. A hot bath and a nap sounded like absolute bliss, but sadly, neither were immediately forthcoming. What she did have was a jackass to challenge.

Tired as she was, she pushed beyond the exhausted buzzing in her head to contemplate just how she was going to take care of the bandit leader. She wasn’t entirely sure what she’d find once they were inside the walls, but for once she had some time to prepare herself and actually think of what spells she might cast. It was a somewhat daunting idea when she dug into her nerd knowledge of spells available in all the games -- including the table top RPG -- and wondered if she’d be able to cast some of those. Experience was necessary, but here in this reality, there was no “level up” that she was aware of. With that thought, a memory flitted past her mind’s eye, or a dream maybe? The line between reality and fantasy had grown fuzzier for her with each passing day. The feeling the memory/dream left her with was one oddly of confidence in her magical abilities though, so that was good, she supposed. There were several spells that came to mind, and of those, she chose two or three to use for the upcoming fight. The spells she selected should have little impact on her mana and, she hoped, prevent unnecessary loss of life.

Gwen fiddled the serpentstone pendant around her neck as they reached the base of the hill, already having seen several bandits milling about outside the high wooden walls. As their group came close, the bandits moved to stop them, but upon seeing the pendant, they stepped aside without giving them any trouble, but Gwen didn’t miss the expression of doubt in their eyes.

When they reached the gate, the guards took one look at Gwen and one of them fingered the pendant dangling from her neck, both offering her looks of amused pity. That got her dander up a bit.

Gwen looked from one guard to the other and said stiffly, “Take me to your leader.”

_God, really? Of all the things you could have said…_

“Fight’s one on one, so them three’s gotta stay back when the fightin’ starts. ‘S rules, innit?”

Varric, Bull, and Blackwall didn’t look at all pleased about the prospect Gwen taking on the fight by herself. They didn’t have much choice in the matter, though, and this was a decision they were not going to take away from her.

“You sure this is a good idea boss?”

“No, Bull, but someone’s got to do this.”

“It doesn’t need to be you, Gwen. You should let one of us do this instead.”

Blackwall laid a gentle hand on her shoulder and said quietly, “Please allow me to take this challenge, my lady. You’re injured and the world needs you.”

Gwen gritted her teeth, and sucked in a calming breath before she made the mistake of speaking. She understood the noble sentiment and tried not to resent the fact that these people, all of whom were veritable strangers, had the desire to keep her safe. What she didn’t appreciate was having her ability questioned or continually having to prove that she was capable. She knew she needed training, but coddling her wasn’t going to fucking help.

She turned to Blackwall, with her head bowed. “Blackwall,” she began.

“It would be my honor, Herald.”

She lifted her chin proudly, getting no small amount of joy in the way the warrior flinched at whatever he saw on her face. “Good. Thank you for being willing to hold my walking stick while I go handle this challenge business,” she said, with a tight smile.

“Erm, yes, as you say, my lady Herald.”

She pressed her staff into Blackwall’s hands, and her smile softened.

“My thanks, ser.”

“Wot’s this about a lady named ‘Harold’?”

She looked at the guard spoke, emulating their accent, “Well ‘Arold’s my name, innit? You gonna take us inside or not?”

“Alrigh’! Alrigh’! Don’t get ya knickers in a twist.”

Difficult to do as she wasn’t wearing any, having run out of clean, dry smallclothes the day before, but she wasn’t about to mention that aloud. Especially not with Bull around.

The Blades of Hessarian camp, like many of the Thedosian locations she’d visited thus far, was more expansive and definitely more populated than she expected. Multiple wattle and daub hovels lined the fort walls and one larger two-story wooden structure, presumably a barracks of some kind, sat opposite the gate against the backmost part of the wall like a rickety king of Shitsville. Two small stables stood on either side of the gate, and a well sat in the center of it all. The cherry on top though was that the place absolutely reeked of dog shit, horse manure, and something fishy, mixed in with the now familiar stench of Fereldan mud.

_Enchanting…_

The Blades within parted to allow her and her companions through, and the gate swung closed with a loud clang of finality.

Every dirt-streaked face she passed assessed her at a glance with the same mixture of doubt and pity on all of them, sometimes followed by whispers and sniggering. Being underestimated was familiar to Gwen, be it here or the real world (whatever that was anymore). Their blatant dismissal of Gwen, when combined with her exhaustion, made her easier to rile. Her irritation grew with every look and sidelong glance in her direction, and by the time the guards stopped and the bandit’s leader stepped out, Gwen’s blood was pumping fast and hot. She was determined to prove every single one of them wrong.

Gwen saw two growling mabari in cages situated on either side of what looked like a throne, or possibly an open air toilet. With skulls. The hounds snarled, their slavering jaws snapping between the bars of their cages, eager to be released to take care of the new threat in their midst. The scarring Gwen noted on their muzzles and coats pissed her off, and she didn’t bother to mask her anger when she finally deigned to look at the shitheel who fancied himself the bandit prince of the Storm Coast.

The shitheel looked a “ _Vikings_ ” reject who had tried, unsuccessfully, to make out with a bear, if the way his face was mauled was anything to go by. He stood there, tall, with a big belly, staring down his nose at her with beady eyes that appraised her, and clearly found her wanting as an ugly sneer spread across his face.

“So, you’ve come to challenge the Blades of Hessarian? This is what the Inquisition sends against me?”

Gwen took a steadying breath and said steadily, “You will answer for the deaths of Inquisition soldiers today. No one else needs to die today if you peacefully agree to step down as leader of the Blades of Hessarian and face the consequences of your actions. Actions which cannot be allowed to continue.”

She knew that trying to appeal to his better nature wouldn’t work, but at least no one could say she hadn’t tried. By the look on the man’s face, capitulation was the not even in consideration. With that in mind, she mentally prepared herself, giving some portion of her focus to her first spell.

“A little slip of a girl comes here with nothing but a rock around her neck and tries to tell me what to do?”

“I need no earthly weapons with Andraste as my guide. The Maker himself will smite thee,” she said, wriggling her fingers in the air with a flourish.

She held her breath, waiting for her first spell to work, which it should have immediately. She swallowed her panic, and then someone snored. Loudly.

“Come on and fight already!” Someone shouted.

The crowd laughed, which seemed to anger the man. “SHUT UP!” He barked, and their audience quieted down. Mostly.

“You’ll never lay a finger on me, little girl,” he spat, but the threat lost its heat when a second snore, louder than the first came from behind him. All eyes were on those cages but Gwen’s.

“What?” The man looked at the caged mabari hounds, who had grown surprisingly silent. Both hounds were curled up on the ground, quiet, until a third snore, and a fourth erupted from both dogs.

_Well, the Sleep spell worked, even if it didn’t quite hit the intended target…_

Their audience roared with laughter, no longer paying any attention to Gwen or their leader. However, Gwen’s attention remained on the large man whose face had grown mottled with fury. He now faced Gwen as he raised his maul high above his head, wild-eyed as he angled his body to charge, his battle cry soaring over the crowd.

Gwen was ready for him though, focused intently on him alone as her now glowing hands curled slowly into fists as she raised them up in the air.

_Feel the spell. You know this in your gut._

A cage of light burst up around the bandit leader, stopping him in his tracks.

_Yes, that’s it!_

The more he struggled within the magical prison, the more pain he seemed to be in as it slowly shrank around him.

The open display of magic silenced the crowd, sending them all stumbling away from Gwen in fear, and not a one made a move toward to stop her from casting.

She walked right up to the barrier and whether the dying man could hear her or not, she spoke regardless, “You were right about one thing. I never laid a finger on you.”

It was difficult to watch, but Gwen refused to look away, embracing her discomfort. She didn't enjoy doing this, and today had already taken a grand toll on her psyche. The man’s suffering was clear, his mouth open wide, screaming in mute agony, and he hung in the air, limp as a ragdoll as the life was slowly crushed out of him.

Gwen had stopped casting, and while the spell proved effective (too effective), she realized that it had cost her far more of her mana than was probably healthy, and she felt utterly depleted.

The spell finally broke, and the former leader’s lifeless body fell in a broken heap to the ground at Gwen’s feet. “Find peace in death,” she whispered, turning away from the dead man, heading in the general direction of her companions. She couldn’t look at them yet. She didn’t want to see what she feared might be in their eyes after that.

Several of the Blades hurried to gather around their former leader after Gwen walked away. “’E’s dead, alright,” one of them declared.

“Good fucking riddance!” Another shouted.

The Blades erupted in a mass of cheers, and before Gwen knew what was going on, she squealed with surprise as she was swept up paraded about the fort on the shoulders of the happy bandits.

She wobbled precariously and her hands clutched at whatever she could reach to stop herself from falling. Whoever the burly bloke was, he didn’t seem to care about her sudden death grip on his hair. Wet, greasy hair at that.

_Ick..._

She twisted about, searching frantically for Varric, Bull, and Blackwall and shouted, “Oi! Put me down!” They didn’t.

She spotted her friends by the well as she was carted past them, the lot of them grinning.

“HELP ME!” She mouthed emphatically.

All three just stood there and started laughing, clapping as she was toted around like a sack of potatoes. She glared back at them, which only made them more amused at which point she simply offered them a stiff middle finger.

\-------

By the time Cassandra, Solas, and several Inquisition soldiers arrived at the fort, the celebration had died down and Gwen was finally allowed use of her ambulatory limbs again. The mabari hounds were also still sound asleep. She hoped that those dogs would be able to re-imprint on new, kinder people.

A now considerably calmer Cassandra gently (for her) nagged Gwen for overextending herself by casting spells she was unpracticed with. Solas, on the other hand, was impressed with Gwen’s tactics, and the fact that the dogs were still asleep. He then asked Gwen how she accomplished such a strong sleep spell. In her head, she likened it to over-anesthetizing, but when she described it in simpler terms by telling Solas that she’d been aiming for the former leader and missed, she found herself the subject of the elf’s hearty and genuine laughter. Gwen blushed profusely, but wouldn’t begrudge Solas a bit of laughter at her expense, as seldom as the elf even smiled.

Blackwall and Cassandra introduced themselves to each other hit it off right away, and shortly thereafter were deeply engaged in a terribly exciting ( _snore_ ) conversation Orlesian shield techniques. Bull was surrounded by a gaggle of women (and a few men) all rapt as they listened to the Qunari recount tales of his mercenary work. Varric also found himself happily distracted by fans of his writing, his literary works viral enough to have spread even to the Blades out here in the seeming middle of nowhere, and so he gamely answered their questions about his books and dodged others about future publishing.

Solas remained at Gwen’s side out of concern, handing her a vial of lyrium and a “suggestion” to drink it. She unhappily did so, even if it did help her feel a bit better. What was another sleepless night, really? Thus a clucking Solas was with Gwen when one of the Blades, who called himself Ivor, approached her to talk.

With change in leadership came a change in loyalty for the Blades of Hessarian, and Ivor pledged fealty to Gwen and all her causes in the name of the Blades of Hessarian. What she didn’t understand was how this well-spoken, intelligent man wasn’t the leader of the Blades himself. She asked him why he’d never challenged the man, and he said simply that while Maccus was a bastard, he was Ivor’s brother, and thus honor-bound not to challenge him.

Gwen offered her apologies and Ivor would have none of it. “I’ve wanted to kill him myself for years. Thank the Maker you came along, because none of the others ever stood a chance against him.”

Ivor showed not even a hint of remorse, and so Gwen skipped over her reflexive need to heap on her condolences. “Uh, well, now you have a chance to lead them. I can’t stay here myself. My party and I have to set out for Highever in the morning, and from there to Val Royeaux.”

“We can ferry your party to Highever using one of our longboats. The Blades are used to navigating the headlands from our location here to the port of Highever, even at night. We have some experience when it comes to questionable item procurement.”

_Convenient._

“Thank the Maker. I don’t think I could handle another two days on horseback…” _because my ass is killing me_.

“The Blades of Hessarian are happy to serve you, Herald of Andraste. We can take you as soon as you are ready.”

“I will inform Cassandra and the others. Who will accompany you to Val Royeaux?”

Remnants of the Party Selection Screen popped up in Gwen’s head.

“I think it wise for the Warden to return to Haven so Leliana can ask whatever questions of him she needs answered. And I think that, regardless of how useful his presence would be in Val Royeaux, that bringing a massive Qunari as backup might be seen as a threat by the Chantry. I wouldn’t put it past them to blow things even more out of proportion and say the Inquisition is ‘trying to force the Qun on the peoples of Thedas!’”

“Sound reasoning. I shall return with the others momentarily,” Solas replied with a nod, then walked away.

“I will make the arrangements, Herald,” Ivor said, bowing deeply before he left as well.

Gwen didn’t remain by herself long before Cassandra was at her side, questioning her about the allegiance of the Blades to the Inquisition and the offer of a ride to Highever.

“So we can leave for Highever without delay and be there before morning?”

“That is what I gathered from Ivor, yes. He’s currently making the arrangements.”

“Good. Word arrived at the Inquisition camp from Commander Cullen. He wrote that a ship would be awaiting our arrival in Highever. There was also a separate note for you.”

“From Leliana?”

“No. From Commander Cullen,” Cassandra said crisply, handing Gwen the note in question.

“And you’ve already decided who will join you in Val Royeaux?”

Gwen repeated what she’d said to Solas for Cassandra’s benefit and when she was finished, Cassandra nodded. “Yes, that is probably best. Our soldiers will need to know what’s going on, so I will update them.”

Gwen nodded, “Good idea,” turning her attention to the note as Cassandra went about her business.  She turned the neatly folded square of parchment over in her hands and read the words, “For the Herald,” in Cullen’s neat script, slightly smudged from the rain, but legible. She broke the tiny wax seal and stood beneath a torch as she read:

_Herald,_

_As Cassandra has no doubt informed you, a vessel will be awaiting your arrival in Highever. That is not, however what I wanted to ~~say~~ ~~speak of with you~~ talk about._

_I am aware that we had a sort of misunderstanding, and I would very much like to find a way to put whatever the matter is to rest between us and move forward when you return, if only for the sake of the Inquisition._

_Be safe in the Maker’s Light,_

_Cmdr. Cullen_

 

Gwen wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or insulted. Was that supposed to be some sort of an apology? She reread the note four times, and with each reading, she grew steadily more irritated.

A sort of misunderstanding? A way to put ‘whatever the matter is’ to rest? As if he had no idea what he bloody well said to her? Oh, she’d move forward alright. She’d move forward, up, past, and up the fuck out with all the icy civility she could muster, and she could muster a metric fuckton of it.

She crushed the note into a compact little ball, anger rolling off her in waves as she made her way to the gate.

“Hey, Gwen, you okay? We’re ready to go if you are,” Varric asked as she stalked past, fuming.

“Time to go,” she replied curtly, tossing the crumpled note into a blazing fire.

 _Stay cozy in_ that _Maker’s Light, Commander_.

Blackwall rushed to her side, her staff still in his care. “Ahem, uh, you might need this in your travels, my lady.”

“And we can at least take you as far as the boat,” Bull said from behind her. Lightning flashed the darkening sky, and an answering rumble of thunder followed moments later. “You know, just to make sure you don’t get too wet.”

Gwen coughed and stopped in her tracks as Blackwall added to Bull’s comment, seemingly oblivious, “Yeah, close as that lightning is, I’d say that storm is coming in fast.”

“Not _too_ fast though.”

Gwen bit down on her lip, pained in her effort not to laugh as Cassandra, Varric, and Solas caught up and whatever Gwen was about to say was forgotten as the ground quaked.

Everyone stopped moving.

“Was that thunder?” Blackwall asked.

“More like an earthqu—” but a pained, shrieking roar silenced Varric, and the earth bucked violently under their feet.

Cassandra shook her head.  “No. That’s a—”

“—Dragon!” Bull said, nostrils flared, his excitement palpable.

 _He’s probably getting a bo—_ Gwen interrupted her own train of thought.

They’d begun moving again, weapons at the ready and when they emerged from the tree line, Gwen really shouldn’t have been surprised at what she saw, or that the Blades who’d been preparing a boat for them were running back toward the fort.

“Now that is BAD ASS!”

The Vinsomer was fighting a giant, and losing, one her hind legs bleeding with a pronounced limp.

“I think this might put a little crimp in our travel plans,” Varric shouted.

“I don’t think so,” Gwen said darkly. The party followed her as she stalked toward the giant and her voice managed to carry over the fight as she yelled, “I HAVE A BOAT TO CATCH, ASSHOLE!”

That got the giant’s attention. The giant who happened to be holding a massive boulder. The giant who proceeded to throw said massive boulder at its new angry, but tiny, target.

 _Well, fuck_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you to everyone who continues to read my work. Your comments, kudos, bookmarks, and subscriptions give me LIFE! And also give me good reasons to keep writing this schlock.
> 
> (PLEASE) Feel free to give me a follow on tumblr: mmesnappysnips.tumblr.com (for all dragon age related posts) and bug me about Gwen and Co., or whatever other Dragon Age stuff you want to talk about or you know, just bug me.
> 
> You can also find my regular tumblr where I post all kinds of crap: evillyte.tumblr.com
> 
> <3333


	22. I'm On A Boat!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Off to Val Royeaux they go!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I edited one bit at the end of Chapter 21 so that the beginning of this chapter would make more sense. Also, this one is the longest chapter yet, I think. So, uh, sorry about that. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Not beta'd, etc., etc.
> 
> Again, sorry about pretty much a double-stuf chapter...

Gwen froze with the realization that she’d just put herself in the shittiest position possible, especially given her extremely squishy status. She screwed her eyes shut and braced for impact.

_Well, at least the pretty dragon will live another day?_

Bright flashes penetrated her eyelids, followed by a meaty CRUNCH, a meatier CRACK, and a strangled yowl. Her eyes flew open as something slammed into her gut, and her world went topsy-turvy. She caught a glimpse of grey skin and a big axe before her wet cowl flopped over her eyes.

_Bull…_

Bull’s shoulder dug painfully into her stomach and ribs, and she couldn’t to draw a full breath as Qunari hauled ass away from the action, his arms wrapped around her hips and thighs like bands of iron. She looked for something to grab onto as she bounced around like a sack of potatoes, and she wrapped one hand around the shaft of the axe, craning her neck as she pushed her cowl up.

Gwen’s wet, heavy braid smacked her mercilessly in the face and her staff smacked the back of her head, her face stinging as she lost her grip on the axe and flopped back down without managing to see a bloody thing. Every step Bull took hurt, and it sounded like the giant wasn’t faring well against the Vinsomer. She knew she’d a helluva bruise later, but bruises were preferable to death by dragon breath, or being turned into paste, for that matter.

Once they reached the shadowed safety of the trees, Bull loosened his grip on her as he got down on one knee and she slid down to her feet. Her head was spinning and she started sagging to the ground, but Bull caught hold of her upper arms and kept her upright as she regained her equilibrium.

“Iron Bull? Is she alright?” Cassandra ask from somewhere behind her.

“Give her a few minutes and she’ll be fine,” Bull replied.

There was a soft grunt in response and the soft crunch of footsteps fading in the opposite direction, but Cassandra could be clearly heard barking orders moments later.

“That would’ve been a damn good fight. That high dragon was something,” Bull said, sounding rather disappointed.

“Then why didn’t we stay and fight?” Gwen asked, leaning her cheek against the cool moss of the tree.

“Too risky. I’ll admit, you were impressive today, for a mage. A lot of power in an itty-bitty package, but even I could see how damn tired you are,” he said, and he chuckled softly.

“I’m not itty-bitty, and I am not _that_ tired,” she huffed.

“You do realize who you’re talking to, right?” Bull said with a chuckle.

“I could’ve held my own, dammit,” sounding like a petulant toddler in need of a nap, even to her own ears.

“Well, if you want another reason,” and Bull plucked her staff off her back and laid on the ground.

“Uh, what are you doing?” She started to frown, and he spun her around so her back was to him. “Bull?” His warm hands were now firmly on her hips, and she tried to twist out of his grip.

“Helping you with that nice limp you’ve got going on.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Hold on to the tree in front of you. This’ll probably hurt.”

“What? I don’t nee-AUGH!” She yelped, flailing as Bull’s thumbs targeted the exact muscle that had been causing her grief. “Owfuckjesuschristonacracker!”

It didn’t just hurt. It tickled, and the more she struggled to escape Bull’s grip, the more pressure he put on that muscle, until both Gwen and the muscle surrendered, and she sagged against the mossy tree with a whimper. “Ah-ah-ah-hahahaha oh fuck that… that’s… Just keep doing that.”

Her eyes rolled back into her head as she hugged that tree, drool and moans bordering on obscene falling from her mouth. Part of her might feel an ounce of shame, but as that muscle unwound and the pain faded, she couldn’t give a dead rat’s ass about what anyone thought of her.

“See,” Bull said, keeping his voice low, “We let you handle that challenge by yourself earlier because on some level, we all understood you needed to show strength to those bandits once they saw you were the one with the amulet, and you handled it spectacularly. But no way you were ready to take on a giant AND a dragon at the same time, even with back up like me, and we both know it.”

Gwen shivered as his warm breath tickled her ear, feeling much warmer than she had a few minutes ago.

A minute later, Bull patted her shoulder, and turned her gently around. “Alright,” he said, loud enough to be heard by the others. “Good?”

Gwen bit her lip to stifle a whimper at the loss of Bull’s hands turning her into mush. Bull rose to his full height, dusting pebbles off his pants, and Gwen squinted up at him, his expression unreadable. She moved the back of one sleeve across her chin to wipe away the drool there as Bull pulled the familiar flask of magical happy juice from his wide belt, opened it and held it out to her. She took it with her good hand, never feeling more self-conscious about swallowing in her life as she took a deep swig and handed it back, licking droplets off her lips as the liquid burned a pleasantly fuzzy path down to her belly.

She hummed. “Yes. Thank you.”

 “If the two of you are finished?” Cassandra said irritably.

“Yeah, she’s good now. Owes me one though.”

The warm fuzzy feeling fled and Gwen’s face burned instead. Bull was grinning from the sound of his voice, and when Gwen looked at Cassandra, she felt the heat in her face spread to her ears and neck.

_Does she really think that he just…? That we…? Is she teasing me? Is Cassandra even capable of joking?_

The Seeker was smirking at her. Actually smirking! “The dragon is gone for now, and she took some of the giant with her as a meal. We should not tarry.”

“I’ll leave you two to talk business. See you back in Haven.” Bull winked at her, then nodded to them both as he sauntered off with a smug smile stretched across his face.

_Was that a wink? It could’ve been a blink, right?_

There was no way Gwen was watching him walk away either. Nope. Definitely not.

_*head tilt* Ugly pants, but dat butt… OMG get your brain out of the gutter you goober!_

Gwen cleared her throat, pushing her cowl back to run nervous fingers through her loosened hair. “Do we, uh, have everything we need for the journey?”

“Yes. The Blades are bringing our packs to the boat now that it’s… safe, but we’re leaving our mounts here. I also thought you might like to know that Ser Blackwall will accompany our soldiers and volunteers from the Blades in preparing the bodies of those lost to us today.”

“Blackwall should be capable of nipping any in-fighting in the bud, I think.”

“He seems a very capable man. I am glad he has joined our cause, and you are fortunate that the Iron Bull was here to keep you from harm.”

Gwen quirked an eyebrow at Cassandra.

_Oh-ho-ho! Well, well, someone sure changed her tune…_

Gwen didn’t hesitate to point out that fact either. “Yes. I am very grateful that _we_ hired Iron Bull and his Chargers.”

Cassandra pursed her lips, her frown deepening as Bull’s laughter could be heard not far off.

Could he actually hear them still? Gwen shouldn’t put it past him.

The Seeker’s mouth became a flat line. “Yes. It was a wise decision,” she conceded grudgingly.

 _Earned back a fraction of what little dignity I possess anyway_ …

“Let’s get a move on then. I don’t want to be here when the dragon comes back for whatever’s left of that giant.”

Once Varric and Solas joined them, the foursome made their way to the longboat. Once aboard, Gwen huddled at the stern, glad they were at long last on their way to Highever, and she let her mind drift as they were rowed to their next destination.

\-------

They reached Highever in the dead of night, and the local guards were waiting for them by the time the longboat docked.

“Got a word from a scout named Harding that you’d be coming by sea instead of on ‘orses. Rooms await you at the Merry Mabari by order Teyrn Cousland,” one of the guards said, snuffling behind his helm.

“Thank Andraste. I’d like to declare that I officially love Highever,” Varric grumbled.

They were all grumpy, tired, soaked and sore. Cassandra and Solas seemed to be much happier back on land as least, even though they’d be leaving aboard one of the shadowy ships in the harbor soon enough.

The guards led them straight to the inn where were given a chance to dry their clothes, bathe, eat a hot meal, and even sleep for a short while. In beds. Gwen and Cass shared one, with Varric and Solas in another.

Warm, fed, and clean, Gwen and Cassandra fell asleep almost as soon as their heads hit their beautifully lumpy pillows.

\-------

Somehow, Cassandra still woke up before Gwen, and she sourly noted that it was still fucking dark outside the tiny casement.

“It is nearly dawn. We should not linger while the Seawolf awaits,” Cassandra said, sounding almost cheerful.

“The Seawolf?” Gwen asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she stumbled out of bed.

“Yes. That is the name of our ship. I believe it is named for the mother of the current teyrn. It is said that a terrible tragedy struck the Cousland family during the Fifth Blight.”

 _Tragedy by the name of Arl Howe and his personal brand of assholery_.

“The Blight brought tragedy to many more than the Couslands,” Gwen replied as she tugged her second boot on and began lacing it up.

“You speak as if you were here in Ferelden during the Blight. Did your family flee to the Free Marches?”

Gwen swallowed a tiny spike of fear at her careless mistake. “I would rather not talk about it, if you don’t mind.”

 _Please work, please work, please work… (_ _⊙_ _﹏_ _⊙ )_

“I apologize. I did not mean to cause you grief. We need not speak of it, if that is your wish. I know something of what you might be feeling, but I will leave it at that.”

 _Oh thank fuck…_ **Ɛ- (´** **・｀)** **ﾌ**

“Someday maybe,” Gwen said quietly.

They were silent until they were ready to leave, and everyone met in the common room. As the Inquisition had already promised to foot the bill, Gwen and company departed the Merry Mabari at the break of dawn in considerably better shape than they’d arrived several hours before.

By the growing light of day, the port of Highever looked like it had seen far better times. When a grubby urchin approached offering to show them the way to whichever ship they were looking for, Varric slipped a coin to the kid and said, “Here, go get yourself something to eat, huh?”

“Fanks, mistah!” The urchin beamed and scampered off.

Cassandra raised an imperious brow at Varric, and the dwarf shrugged. “I have a weak spot for urchins, okay?”

“Employing them, you mean.”

“Would you rather they starve, Seeker?”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

Gwen rolled her eyes. She had not slept enough to deal with this shit sans coffee. “We haven’t even boarded the bloody boat and the two of you are bickering already? Honestly?” Gwen hissed.

They both looked away from Gwen and hurried forward on their own. Solas lagged behind to walk with her. “I wonder if it would have been better or worse to travel with them by land, do you think?” Solas asked Gwen quietly.

Gwen scrunched her face up. “Ugh, that’s not even funny to imagine.”

“It is a little.” Solas shrugged.

Gwen smiled and shook her head seeing a little twinkle in Solas’ eyes. “Yeah, it is.”

Space was limited aboard the Seawolf, given that she wasn’t a merchant vessel, so Cassandra and Gwen were loaned the use of the Captain’s quarters to share for the duration, while Varric, Solas, and the captain himself took berths in the crew’s quarters. The captain said the coin the Inquisition was paying for their fare was more than enough to make up for an achy back. Before long they were underway, sailing onto the open sea.

The Seeker stood vigil over a chamber pot for most of the journey, and Gwen was too nice to ditch her outright. So she did what she could to ease Cassandra’s discomfort. Gwen charmed the ship’s cook into giving her some fresh crushed ginger, lemon, a little honey and boiling water to make tea for Cassandra like the kind her gran used to give her when she was sick. Her gran used to give her 7-UP when she was sick too, but that was obviously not an option.

Cass seemed surprised that Gwen brought her tea, and more so that it seemed to work. When Cass fought to get out of bed, Gwen put her foot down and told her to rest. “You’re dehydrated and haven’t been able to hold down any food since we set sail two days ago. So, you will sleep. Then later I will bring you some broth, and if I’m really lucky, we can split an orange. Now lay back, and relax.”

Cassandra did as she was told, though she remained awake while Gwen quietly moved about the cabin. Gwen had managed to finagle a washtub, washboard, soap, and an extra water ration from the crew for a song. Literally. She promised to pay up once she’d done her laundry.

Gwen felt Cassandra’s eyes following her around the room, but paid her no mind as she put her own dirty smalls in a washtub. She would’ve washed the Seeker’s too, but Gwen didn’t think she and Cass had reached the “let’s combine our undies to save time” stage of friendship, if that was even a thing.

“You must have cared for many people before you came to us through the Fade. You seem very practiced at it,” Cassandra said.

Gwen stilled, her back to the Seeker when she spoke, “Yes. I was good at what I did.” She picked up her chunk of harsh soap and starting scrubbing.

“Solas mentioned that you have a unique healing ability, similar to spirit healers. Is that true?”

_I help her and she interrogates me. Fantastic… > :- /_

Gwen scrubbed harder for a minute, making too much noise to answer. When she stopped and plunged the cloth in the water, she bit back her irritation at the woman’s curiosity. “That was his assessment, certainly.”

She pulled the cloth out of the water, wringing it out.

“I apologize. I often forget you were never in any Circle, so your education about magic must be limited.”

Gwen bristled as she whipped two washed pairs of smalls over a length of rope strung between two of the bedposts, securing them to dry with clothespins. She leveled her gaze at Cassandra who was giving her a look of pity, which only pissed her off more. “Right, because Solas got his magical education in the Circle, right? Oh, no, that’s right. He learned everything in the bloody Fade.”

“Please, I’m sorry. I,” Cass sighed dejectedly. “I’m terrible at this. I’m more at ease with a sword than with words.”

Gwen relaxed seeing the worry lining Cassandra’s face and sat beside her on the bed. “It’s alright. The magic Solas thinks is so special really isn’t. Not to me, anyway. It always worked as more of a supplement to my physical work, and always came easily to me.”

“Physical work?”

Gwen nodded. “Here, give me your hand.”

Cassandra narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

“Please, trust me. I’m only going to show you what I meant. I’m not going to test out my magic on you, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

“I’m not afraid of magic, or of you.” Cass put her hand out. “Here, then.”

Gwen’s mouth turned up in a wry grin and she took Cassandra’s hand. “Close your eyes, and you’ll appreciate this more. I guarantee it.”

“Alright. But don’t try anything funny…”

“Look at you, trying to make jokes. Varric would pop a beard if he knew.”

Cassandra laughed, and opened her eyes for a second just to glower at Gwen. “Get on with it.”

“Okay,” Gwen said, lifting Cassandra’s hand, proceeding to massage her palm and fingers with well-practiced motions. She whimpered briefly when Gwen placed one hand down to pick up the other and give it the same treatment.

When Gwen finished with the other hand, she gently patted Cassandra’s knee over the blanket.

Cassandra’s eyes fluttered open. “Is that it? Are you done already?”

Gwen laughed. Hard.

Cassandra scowled. “You did use magic, didn’t you?”

Gwen shook her head, laughing harder now. “Not one bit.”

“That was a cruel thing you did then.” Cassandra’s mouth drooping into a slight pout.

“Can you return the favor?”

The Seeker turned bright red. “What? How?”

“Oh good grief, forget I mentioned anything. You know, for someone who spent most of her life in service to the Chantry, you have a dirty mind, Seeker.”

“I do not!”

Gwen got up from the bed and went back to scrubbing, laughing all the while. Eventually Cassandra started laughing too.

\-----

When Cass finally fell asleep, Gwen was able to leave the cabin with a clear conscience. She returned only to leave a mug of broth and half of the promised orange she’d begged off the cook (an orange never tasted so sweet to her, and she didn’t care for oranges). They had a couple more days at sea, according to the captain, and now that Cassandra was feeling better, she could spend more time outside observing to her heart’s content, and check in on her other companions as well.

Solas seemed to be enduring the voyage, but he wasn’t seasick. Solas merely found sea travel unpleasant as it made visiting the Fade difficult. While he mostly kept to himself, sometimes Gwen would spy him observing the crew with the same curiosity she did. Once, the elf even managed to join Varric and Gwen just to trounce them at cards.

Gwen spent much of her time over the next two days above decks just watching the crew work or gazing out at the water. Varric was all too keen to trade stories with some of the sailors, and Gwen was happy to listen. She laughed at their dirty sea shanties, and made good on her promise to give them a song as well.

Almost the whole crew gathered on deck to listen while they ate their supper and drank their grog (which she tried a sip of and the stuff wasn’t half bad). She resolved to begin with a traditional song sung in Scottish Gaelic she’d learned when she was in her teens. After she finished, the crew was dead quiet apart, then she heard some sniffling. She asked if she’d offended anyone, because honestly she was pretty sure Gaelic wasn’t spoken in Thedas.

“Ach, no. Ye just reminded us of home, lass,” coming from one of the Starkhavener’s in the crew.

Oddly, they asked her to sing another, so she went with aria she knew by Mozart. While in a completely different style and language from her first selection, she hadn’t exactly memorized any comedic arias, and her second choice had the Antivans among the crew getting emotional. There was a lot of coughing and awkward thanks as the crew returned to their stations or sought their bunks.

Gwen felt awful and started to apologize, but Varric strode over, shaking his head, eyes looking a little red. “Just leave it, Gwen.”

“Are you okay Varric?”

The dwarf chuckled. “Me? I’m fine, but, Firecracker, you just have no idea the effect you have on people around you, do you?”

When Gwen’s only reply was to give him a blank look, Varric nodded. “I figured. You just keep being you, Gwen. You’ve made a lot of people happy on this otherwise miserable voyage. I even heard Cassandra laughing the other day, which is a monumental accomplishment that you deserve some kind of award for, in my opinion. Hey, maybe you can butter up the Merchant’s Guild for me too, while you’re at it.”

Gwen scoffed. “You’re ridiculous, Varric. I think this is a good moment for me to get some shut eye.”

“Yeah, probably for the best. Captain said we should arrive at Val Royeaux by morning. G’night, Gwen.”

And like that, all the anxiety she’d let go of for the last few days came tearing back, and her short reprieve from being the Herald and everything that came with it was over.

“Please, just let tomorrow go well,” she whispered to the sky, hoping maybe someone up in the heavens was listening aside from a demon.

\------

By mid-morning the following day, Gwen was walking the streets of Val Royeaux. They’d heard the bells of the Grand Cathedral ringing out over the water long before the Seawolf docked.

Cassandra had been standing beside Gwen on the deck. “The city still mourns the loss of the Most Holy,” the Seeker said, and edge of sadness coloring her voice.

Gwen was silent. She was close personal friends with mourning, and she hadn’t been free of grief for a very long time. At least not until she’d been sucked into this never-ending nightmare of no hot showers.

Within the city itself, the bells became an incessant buzz, much like the song stuck in her head the moment the spotter in the crow’s nest called out, “Land ho! Val Royeaux!”

Gwen still looked at the shining city with unabashed awe, and undisguised revulsion when the moment called for it. It wasn’t the largest she’d ever visited, but it was damned impressive.

“You’ve never been to Val Royeaux before, have you?” Cassandra asked.

“No, I’m afraid not.”

Cassandra had been pleased to point out the silhouettes of the White Spire and the Grand Cathedral as they’d sailed closer to the city. “I hope someday that you will be able to see them properly. As it is, we cannot waste any time sightseeing once we’ve landed. We must go directly to the Summer Bazaar after we find our accommodations.”

They entered the city via the Night Gate, as it was their only option, as the Sun Gates were closed thanks to the Orlesian Civil War, and the death of Divine Justinia. Still, given Gwen and the Inquisition’s standing with the Chantry, taking the lesser entrance to the city was the wisest course of action. Cassandra said Josephine had assured her they would have rooms waiting at an inn found in one of the less desirable locations of the city, but it was still close to the bazaar, so they wouldn’t be trekking from one side of the city to the other.

Their accommodations were, in fact, at an inn that sat just outside the walls of the Alienage. Gwen loathed the inn AND the wall on sight, and she wasn’t alone in the sentiment.

“I think Josephine and I will have words upon our return,” Cassandra said, her mouth pinched.

Gwen, however, was resisting the strong urge to set the signpost of the inn on fire. “Le Lapin Poignardé?”* Then she lowered her voice, “Are Orlesians really that bloody crass?”

“Yes,” Cassandra said.

Solas had pulled his cowl up, his ears out of sight. “With any luck, we will not have to remain long,” Solas said, brows drawn together in a frown.

“Agreed, hahren,” Gwen replied softly.

Both mages agreed to leave their staves behind at the inn, so they would “appear” less threatening. That gave Varric a good chuckle. The party remained only long enough to drop off their packs before leaving again, however Solas warded their rooms, so if anyone tried to steal their things, they’d be in for a nasty surprise.

Val Royeaux herself was a maze of colorful streets and alleyways, except for those areas where nobility had created monuments or palatial estates. Case in point; the Miroir de la Meré: A massive, lead-lined reflecting pool that an insane emperor demanded be built so his dead mother could cross the veil for a chitchat, dotted with colorful gondolas owned by the nobility. Speaking of the nobles, Orlesian fashions were… interesting, though Gwen personally found the masks of the nobility and their servants unnerving.

When they reached the road leading to the Summer Bazaar, the bells from the Grand Cathedral became louder, and Gwen cursed internally about the fact that “Empress of Fire” was still playing on repeat in her head, since the bells were ringing in time with the song.

_I’m gonna get a migraine from today, I just fucking know it._

Gwen finally saw something she recognized when the gates leading to the Avenue of Reflective thought rose before them. Once the guards allowed them through, they passed by people with and without masks, each one staring brazenly at their party gossiping about them all in perfectly audible voices them as they strode along the stone-paved road.

“Ugh. The Grand Game carries a stench unlike any other,” Cassandra said, not bothering to conceal her distaste.

“Seeker, there are far more suitable places to share your dislike of Orlesian sensibilities,” Solas commented.

“I am a warrior and a Seeker of Truth. Not a diplomat.”

“Truer words…” Varric muttered.

“I heard that, _Varric_.”

Gwen rolled her eyes. “Oh, would the two of you just get a bloody room already?”

That was enough to get their bickering to cease, for a time at least. Gwen was tense enough as it was.

Gwen was looking at something shiny on the ground, and she bent over to pick it up when a woman nearby gasped and wailed melodramatically. Gwen pocketed the coin she’d found and looked up to see what all the hubbub was about, she saw only the backside of a gaudy pink gown flouncing in the opposite direction with some poor masked sod trying to make sure the owner of said gown didn’t trip and fall on her… mask.

 _Orlesians_ …

“This might just be conjecture, Seeker, but I think they know who we are around here.”

“Your skills of observation never fail to impress me, Varric.”

“My skills of observation are legendary I’ll have you know.”

“You know, Varric, I think your chest pelt is legendary, even in Val Royeaux, no? Honhonhon…” Varric cackled at Gwen’s deliberately horrible Orlesian-ness, while Cassandra simply smirked and shook her head.

“Remind me to tell you about the story about the time me and Hawke met with the De Launcet’s sometime,” Varric said with an amused snort.

As they passed through one of many gates, a young woman in the blessedly familiar garb of the Inquisition came running up to them and bent the knee. “My lady Herald.”

Gwen’s eyes rolled heavenward while Cassandra spoke. “You’re one of Leliana’s people. What have you discovered?”

“The Chantry Mothers await you, as do a large number of templars, Seeker Pentaghast.”

“Templars?”

“The people here seem to think that the Templars have arrived to protect them from the Inquisition. I think their true intent is to confront you on the other side of the market.” The scout bowed her head.

“They wish to protect the people? From _us_?”

Gwen sighed. “You walk beside a branded heretic, who is not only a magic-cursed apostate, but the suspected murderer of the Divine. Someone has to rescue them from the clutches of the wicked Herald of Andraste,” she said, then made a face, baring her teeth, making claws of her hands.

“Surely not, my lady!”

“You think the Order’s returned to the fold just to deal with us?” Varric asked.

“I _know_ Lord Seeker Lucius and I can’t imagine him coming to the defense of the Chantry after everything that occurred.”

“I’m pretty sure before a few weeks ago, no one imagined some git would rip the sky a new arsehole, but here we are,” Gwen muttered under her breath.

Cassandra looked at the scout and said, “Wait here. We will need you to return to Haven if we are… delayed. Someone will have to inform them if anything happens.”

“As you say, my lady,” the scout replied, bowing as they passed.

They stepped through the final gate at last and entered the bazaar proper. The marketplace was bustling, and the scent of apples hovered just above the stench of ripe bodies and other similarly enchanting smells which increased as the sun rose higher in the sky. It was spring now in Thedas, and though they weren’t technically that much further north, it was still warmer here than Ferelden by a long shot. and Gwen suddenly ached for the Fereldan cold.

The crowd spilled out around the lion monument at the center of the bazaar, and Gwen waded through the crowd with her companions, pushing past the mass of bodies crushed close around the small platform where the Chantry Mother stood. When they reached the foot of the dais, Cassandra leaned toward Gwen and whispered, “That is Mother Hevara, I believe.”

Mother Hevara was already in the midst of an impassioned speech in front of a rapt audience. Their little group hadn’t escaped the Chantry Mother’s notice either, and her gaze narrowed on Gwen with such speed that she knew the woman had been informed of what to look for prior to their arrival.

“And here! Listen to me, good and faithful of Val Royeaux! Together we mourn our Divine. Her naïve and beautiful heart silenced by treachery! You wonder what will become of her murderer. Well, wonder no more! Behold the so-called Herald of Andraste! Claiming to rise where our beloved fell. We say this creature is a false prophet! She is a servant of nothing beyond her own selfish greed! What have you to say to that, heretic?!”

The crowd gave a collective horrified gasp and those closest to Gwen and company backed away, others following suit when they realized they were standing too close to Gwen for their comfort.

 _Better for my comfort, anyway_.

A hush settled over the market as the congregation waited in suspense for some kind of response from the perceived monster in their midst.

 _Speak slowly and calmly, and you’ll be fine. Just ignore the dirty looks from the peanut gallery_.

“My companions and I journeyed here with the idea that we were to speak amicably with you and your fellow clerics to seek solutions to the true threat to Thedas. If it is the Chantry’s will to go against the decree of the Divine and let the land fall to chaos, I can only say that I am gravely disappointed.”

There was another melodramatic gasp, as well as a few high pitched wails.

“How dare you blaspheme and speak of the Divine as if you knew her mind! Maleficar filth!”

Cassandra puffed up, her spine ramrod straight as she spoke through clenched teeth. “Do not speak blatant falsehoods near a Seeker of Truth, Revered Mother.”

“And what sort of Seeker of Truth are you, Lady Cassandra, that you would allow a murdering apostate to speak ill of the Divine you once served so loyally?”

“As the Herald has done _nothing_ of the sort, there is absolutely no reason to rebuke her.” Cassandra’s voice rose above the growing din of the crowd, “What the Herald says is true! The Inquisition as a whole seeks only to end this madness before it is too late!”

There was a mighty rhythmic clatter of metal on stone, and onlookers gasped once again as what remained of the Templar Order in Val Royeaux marched on the marketplace. The crowd cheered bowing out of the templars' way as they moved to take up positions on the right and left sides of the dais. A chill traveled down Gwen’s spine as Lord Seeker Lucius himself stepped proudly up onto the stage, or at least what was left of the man from what Gwen remembered of that _one_ time she’d taken her Inquisitor to Therinfal Redoubt.

Mother Hevara sneered down at Gwen. “Do you see, heretic?! It is already too late! The templars have returned to the Chantry! They will face you and this…’Inquisition’, and the people will be safe once more!” The cleric’s eyes followed the Lord Seeker reverently as he crossed the stage, relief clear in her eyes.

Gwen, was no longer focused on Mother Hevara or the Lord Seeker. Instead, her eyes were on the templars who followed the Lord Seeker onto the dais. She found the one she was looking for with little effort, as he was one of very few who didn’t have a bucket on his head. Though his hat was still fucking ridiculous. Aaa-nd the templar was making a beeline for the oblivious Mother Hevara who was, frankly, way too busy mooning over Lord Seeker Lucius.

Before Gwen thought better of it, she rushed up onto the stage, inserting herself between Mother Hevara and the templar scribe just in time for the scribe’s fist to smash into Gwen’s left cheek, and she tasted blood. Many voices in the crowd cried out in alarm, and the templar drew his arm back for a second blow, but this time Gwen blocked it with her forearm and gritting her teeth against the pain. Sure it was a rash decision, but actions speak louder than words, according to someone.

“You dare use magic openly in front of the Lord Seeker and assault a templar, mage!?”

“Look at her teeth! She’s using blood magic!”

Hysterical shrieks of, “Blood mage!” filled the air of the bazaar, but Gwen heard none of it.

In the space of a heartbeat, she felt fire roaring through her veins as her breath was sucked forcibly out of her lungs and the world turned to ash before her eyes. A sharp ringing sang through her brain, and as much as she wanted to grasp that sound, it was just out of reach, and all went mute. As the roots of devastation took hold, she felt cut away from the ground. There were no directions, no ups, no downs, and nothing held meaning anymore. She had no purpose. Stars danced before her eyes and externally she acknowledged the wooden splinters digging into her cheek, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Pain was an oddity that she perused through a windowed room from the outside in, or a distant star winking in the night sky. For a moment, she remembered the song, and it was beautiful, and terrible. The disconnect she felt began to dissolve, and her lungs worked to fill themselves with air again.

Her mana was gone, her magic was gone, and even her voice was gone. All drained away. The song faded, but somehow, she was closer to it now than she was before. With one more breath, feeling returned, and with it, agony such as she had never felt before.

She was only dimly aware of her surroundings. At some point, she went from standing to prone on the stage. She thought of trying to move, and thinking hurt. She opened one eye, and the light was so bright, it ached, but she also ached for it. She could see Cassandra with that eye, sword drawn and Varric holding Bianca. But Solas, where was Solas? They were surrounded by templars, shining, cruel, but Cassandra snarled at them all, daring them to come after her. The Seeker looked down at Gwen, and Gwen tried to smile. Tried to say she was okay, but she couldn’t. She didn’t like seeing Cassandra worry.

Then the Seeker ran at something near her, her sword flashing, teeth bared. “YOU! Don’t you touch her!”

A low, gentle voice answered, “I mean her, nor you, any harm. I want to help.”

“I want to help,” another voice parroted, but so far away.

_Who…_

She heard someone whisper. “Can you help her?”

And another, but not the same, and so, so far away. “Yes. The whole world hurts. I can help.”

There was a soft, warm breath against her cheek, and then…

“If you came here to appeal to the Chantry or the Templar Order, Seeker Pentaghast, you are too late. The only destiny that demands respect is _mine_ ,” said the Lord Seeker.

“Lord Seeker,” someone said out of Gwen’s extremely limited field of vision, and she felt as if she’d been held underwater and finally pierced the surface.

_Solas… Where is Solas?_

“What is it, Ser Barris?” Lucius snapped.

“I’ve felt honored to serve the Templar Order, until today. You allowed one of our own to silence and purge a woman who merely defended a cleric of the Chantry from physical violence caused by another templar. I don’t know if this woman is truly the Herald of Andraste, it is clear that she is good and seeks to do good. I do not, and cannot, condone your actions or the actions of my brethren here today, nor the questionable plans you have for the future of the Order. Henceforth, I no longer consider myself a part of your Order.”

“See here? This maleficar has managed to poison the mind of one of our brothers!”

“Ah-ah, Shiny. My trigger finger is feeling awfully itchy right now, so I wouldn’t touch the lady again, if I were you. Then again, if I were you, I’d look a damn sight better in that templar skirt.”

Strong hands helped Gwen to roll over and sit up, and she blinked through bleary eyes. She couldn’t stop shaking as someone in a mask held a cup to her lips and whispered, “Drink, please?”

Gwen sipped from the wooden cup and the liquid was cool and sweet, and she was so happy she could taste and feel anything at all that a tear slipped down her cheek.

Solas was kneeling beside her, as was Ser Barris, who was holding her up.

“Do not let the dwarf’s flimsy words vex you, brother, for we templars were meant to serve a higher purpose. I will make the Templar Order a power that stands alone against the Void. _We_ deserve recognition. Independence! Come, Ser Barris, we are finished here.”

“Yes you are,” Ser Barris said firmly.

“The templars care nothing for the problems of the likes of the Inquisition and their puppet, Ser Barris. Stop this charade and come here. I command you!”

“Please allow me to apologize for the actions of my former brethren, Herald. I would pledge my service to you and the Inquisition if you will have me.”

She smiled wanly at the knight kneeling beside her, and the words flowed easily. “Ser Barris, you and any of the Order who desire to assist the Inquisition be welcomed by us,” Gwen replied, somewhat hoarse.

Not to be outdone, the Lord Seeker sought to have the last word.

“You’re a fool, Barris,” Lucius’ voice rang out, “As are any who would follow you, or the Inquisition and its Herald. And you, Seeker Pentaghast, have shown me nothing, and the Inquisition, less than nothing. Templars! Val Royeaux is unworthy of our protection! We MARCH!”

“You are making a grave mistake, Lord Seeker! Every single one of you is making a mistake!” Cassandra shouted at their retreating forms, the clamor of their arms and armor fading.

Cassandra turned to Gwen, utterly perplexed. “Lord Seeker Lucius has gone mad… He was always decent. Certainly not given to ambition or grandstanding. And he never would have tolerated such behavior from the templars under his command before. I truly do not understand what’s happened here today.”

“Yeah, he was a real charmer, alright,” Varric muttered.

Cassandra crouched in front of her. “Are you alright, Gwen? Is your mana recovering?”

“I still feel a bit woozy, but I’ll live. It was interesting to know what that felt like, though I can’t remember half of what went on. It is not an experience I would care to repeat.”

To be honest, what she could recollect of it was how in hindsight it was probably really bloody close to being attacked by a Dementor. Templars were Dementors.

 _Fuck, I need some chocolate_.

“And those were some of the milder gifts of the Order. Again, I apologize for what happened to you, my lady Herald. I know there are who would leave upon hearing of what occurred here today, if I sent them word before it is too late.”

Gwen nodded and reached to pat the metal gauntlet on her shoulder. “If you want to convince more to leave the Order, I won’t stop you. Commander Cullen would be only too happy to have more templars join the ranks at Haven. One of our agents is just outside the gate into the market. She should be able to help you send word to whomever you need quickly.”

“Thank you, my lady Herald. With your permission, I will take my leave to do so.”

Gwen shook her head, and regretted it as it spun a bit. “You don’t require my permission to do anything, Ser Barris. I’m just an agent of the Inquisition.”

Ser Barris smiled crookedly and lowered his head. “Then I don’t require your permission to believe you’re more than you say, my lady.”

Gwen snorted as the man walked away proudly. “Cheeky.”

Then she heard Solas murmur, “I will return shortly.”

Mother Hevara still hovered nearby, wringing her hands, her face red with shame as Ser Barris departed and Solas ran off on some errand or other.

“Why did you do that?” Mother Hevara asked.

Gwen looked up at the cleric. “Why did I do what?”

“You took those blows for me, and even now you still suffer for it.”

Gwen shrugged. “Because it was the right thing to do.”

Mother Hevara’s eyes tightened as she frowned. “Did you not fear for your life?”

Did she? Gwen hadn’t thought about it when she ran up on the stage. Though she knew that if there was a way she could spare a single person unnecessary pain and suffering by taking it herself, she would. At least, for most people. She wouldn’t be a shield for everyone. Just the people who truly needed it. Did that make her afraid of death? Maybe. Did it make her picky about the reason for her death? Probably. In the end she answered, “Not really, no.”

The cleric knelt beside Gwen and took Gwen’s hands in her own, turning them over to look at Gwen’s palms. Mother Hevara stared at the mark on Gwen’s left hand with a mixture of fear and fascination, and said in a low voice, “It is said you stepped out of the Fade and that Our Lady was the one who sent you to us. Is it true?”

_So saying, “Fuck if I know,” probably won’t work…_

“What do you _think_ is true, Mother Hevara?”

 ** _(_** ٯ ** _° ʊ ° )_** ٯ

 The cleric closed her eyes and said, “’There is but one truth. All things are known to our Maker, and He shall judge their lies.’”

“And what does your heart tell you?”

_Yep, dig yourself in deeper, dumbass. JAYSUS MARY N JOSEPH!_

“I fear what it might mean for us all if certain things prove true,” she replied as a gaggle of Chantry sisters helped the older woman to her feet. Mother Hevara turned and lower her head fractionally toward Gwen and then swept out of the marketplace with her Chantry chicks following her all in a row.

“Well, that’s gratitude for you,” Varric said, shaking his head.

A masked woman holding a wooden cup came up to the stage. Gwen realized it was the person offered her a drink, and she found herself smiling. “Thank you for what you did.”

“It was nothing, truly. Please, have some more, if it will help.”

Gwen accepted the mug, and the contents were cool. Oddly reminiscent of cheap boxed wine, but watered down. So like a wine cooler, but not fizzy. She took another sip and sighed happily. Never had a fucking wine cooler tasted so good. “This is very good. Thank you again.”

“I do not mean to be a bother, but… is it true what they are saying? The Inquisition is trying to fix the hole in the sky?”

“That is one of our primary goals, yes.”

“Je ne comprends pas! No one else is doing anything! The Chantry’s useless… and Maker… The Templars?! I never thought they’d just abandon us.”

Gwen set the empty mug on the stage and looked at Cassandra and Varric. “Would you two mind helping me stand up?”

They helped her to her feet, and stayed beside her to ensure she wasn’t going to fall right back down.

_Oh, hello teeny headspin…_

“If you please,” the masked woman said to Gwen, “I want to do something. I want-no I need- to do more. I can’t just sit here and pretend everything is fine. Look, I’ve heard about Haven. Your camp, it will need food, supplies. I can at least help with that. I have many contacts. We could have deliveries there in days.”

Cassandra narrowed her eyes at the woman. “So you are offering to help the Inquisition?”

“I’ve never been part of anything so big in all my life, but if your Inquisition is going to close the sky, I want to help. I want to do my part.”

Gwen looked up at Cassandra. “Cassandra? Your thoughts?”

“I believe this woman is asking you, and not me.”

The woman shrugged. “Well, she _is_ …”

“The Herald of Andraste. Yes, I understand.” Then Cassandra said to Gwen, “Haven is a mess right now, as you are well aware, but we won’t turn away those willing to help. Invite her assistance, if it pleases you, Herald.”

Gwen looked at the masked woman and smiled. “Your help is more than welcome, madame. We’ll have another agent help make the arrangements with you.”

“Maker bless and keep you, Herald of Andraste,” the woman said, then curtsied deeply before she hurried back to her stall.

“Don’t say I didn’t try to include you in this one.” Gwen smirked up at the Seeker.

Cassandra almost cracked a smile at that. “True enough. What worries me now is what are we going to do without the Templars to aid us?”

A slight figure in a hooded cloak stepped out of the shadowy alcoves near the stage and said, “You will fare better if you treat with us instead.” The woman’s Orlesian-accented voice was soft and smoky.

“Who is ‘us’?” Varric asked.

The woman stepped closer to the dais, and lowered the hood of her cloak.

“Grand Enchanter Fiona?” Cassandra said in disbelief.

It was at that moment that Solas reappeared next to Cassandra. Hadn’t he gone somewhere?

“The leader of the Mage Rebellion? Why do you risk yourself to be here?” Solas asked.

“Word of this meeting reached me and I was… curious. I also wanted to see the fabled Herald of Andraste for myself.” Fiona’s dark eyes bore into Gwen. “You _are_ the one said to be the Herald, yes?”

“That’s the rumor.”

Gwen was pleased to see the Grand Enchanter, functional title or no. She sounded somewhat similar, but looked far less like her game counterpart. She was somehow smaller, but at the same time something about her just felt… immense.

 _Interesting_. _*mental chin stroke*_

Fiona smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “What say you, then, to meeting with my people in Redcliffe? We are willing to talk if you are.”

“Grand Enchanter, how is it that you are here at all? You were supposed to be at the Conclave, and yet somehow _you_ avoided death,” Cassandra asked, rightfully suspicious.

“And the Lord Seeker should be alive after what he allowed to happen here today? The man may be an asshole, but he’s not entirely stupid. Nor am I.”

Gwen giggled at hearing Fiona curse. She knew it wasn’t abnormal, but… Maybe it was the accent? Fiona gave her a sharp glance that reminded Gwen of one of her Catholic school teachers. Her laughter stopped instantly.

Fiona continued, “We both sent proxies to negotiate in our stead in case the Conclave proved to be a trap.” The ice in Fiona’s eyes melted away into grief. “I won’t lie and say I am sorry that I am alive, but I lost so many friends that day, and I know, Seeker that I am not the only one. So it is my hope, more than anything else, in the wake of that disaster that my people can work with the Inquisition to help seal the Breach.”

“Then why did you not answer when we first sent word to you?”

“There is no easy answer to your question, Seeker, but we couldn’t know if the Inquisition would be willing to trust us at all. Magic tore open the sky. It was a simple conclusion to reach for us to think the Inquisition might treat all of the rebel mages as criminals in the same way the Herald was before she proved otherwise.”

A flicker of shame passed over Cassandra’s features. “Obviously things have changed since those first days.”

“Indeed, which is another reason why I am here and making you this offer. After seeing what the Herald did for that Chantry cleric who certainly did not deserve it, for all her vitriol, I am willing to believe that this Inquisition will not be the same as its predecessor.”

“An alliance with the mages could only be to our benefit, Gwen,” Solas said quietly.

“The Inquisition would welcome the discussion of an alliance, Grand Enchanter.”

“Then I look forward to seeing you again in Redcliffe, my lady Herald,” Fiona said with a true smile as she bowed at the waist. “Stay safe. Val Royeaux can be treacherous in the day, but more so at night, my friends. Au revoir.”

Fiona drew her cowl over her head and melted back into the shadows in that same creepy way that rogues do, and Gwen wondered if she learned a thing or two from Duncan before she got the boot from the Wardens.

Once it was established that Gwen could walk on her own two feet, they started to leave the market, and a very well-dressed young man ran up to her, and he wasn’t even breathing hard.

_Bastard…_

“You are the Herald of Andraste?”

Gwen bit back her initial response and just said, “Yes.”

“This invitation is for you,” he eyed her companions, “Just you.”

Gwen accepted the small, wax-sealed envelope. “Erm, thanks.”

Cassandra looked over her shoulder as she opened it and read it aloud before Gwen had a chance to:

 

“’You are cordially invited to attend my salon this evening held at the Chateau of Duke Bastien de Ghislain.

Yours,

Vivienne de Fer

First Enchanter of Montsimmard

Enchanter to the Imperial Court’”

 

“May I inform Madame de Fer that you will be attending, my lady Herald?”

“You should definitely attend this, Gwen. She would certainly be of use to us in negotiating with the mages.”

Gwen knew that regardless of her feelings about Vivienne’s staunch support of the Circle that she wielded influence that could be of use to the Inquisition. She nodded at the messenger. “Yes. I would be pleased to accept Madame de Fer’s gracious invitation.”

“Very good. A carriage will arrive at your lodgings at nine bells. I bid you good day, my lady Herald.” The messenger bowed crisply then sped off down the road.

Varric sidled up to her and tugged her sleeve, smirking. “Ha, looks like you’re gonna have to wear that dress our Ambassador made you take with us after all, Firecracker.”

“No. No I don’t.”

“Odd though it might be for me to agree with Varric, the dwarf has a point.”

“Look, I’m not wearing that damn—“

_SHhhhhhh-THUNK!_

An arrow was vibrating inches away from Gwen’s face, lodged in crotch region of one of the statues leading out of the market.

_Rude!_

“MAKER! Who?! What? Who shot that arrow? Come out of the shadows if you know what’s good for you,” Cassandra yelled.

“Hush, Cassandra. It’s got a note,” Gwen said.

“Another invitation perhaps?” Cassandra was peering over her shoulder again.

“Would you not do that, please?”

It must’ve been the close proximity for days or something making Cassandra act so… familiar?

“Ah, sorry.”

Gwen chuckled and shook her head, reading Sera’s note. At least Sera wasn’t making her run around the market after all that happened. The note just mentioned a baddie in Val Royeaux with a time and an address. “Have a look, Cassandra. You might know where this is.”

“It is near the Ghislain estate, so I imagine whoever it is knows of your invitation and intends to attack you after you leave. Curious. We should at least go there tonight to question this person, if it proves to be true. There is a decent tavern not far from this location where we can wait for you.”

“We should get moving then. It’s going to be a long night.”

 _With no breeches_ , she thought with a grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So hey, that was a lot! All questions and comments welcome, as always. After this chapter, I think there might be a few, and while I won't give spoilers, I'll maybe be nice and give hints. Also, the divergence from canon is growing, obv., and I hope that I'm doing some justice to characters who I saw as being sort of shafted in the game narrative with the limited choices presented to players. So I hope that comes across? I'm writing this after spending way too long writing today, period. Apologies if this makes no sense.
> 
> So the two songs the Gwen performed are "Ailein Duinn" and the second "Porgi Amor" From Mozart's Le Nozze de Figaro.
> 
> The name of the inn in Val Royeaux is The Stabbed Rabbit, because I don't think Orlesians wouldn't be that crass.
> 
> THANK YOU FOR YOUR ETERNAL PATIENCE AND LOVE!


	23. Rogue's Gallery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen is miserable Madame de Fer's totally predictable soirée.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo! Look! Another update in a fairly timely manner! WHO KNEW?! Well, I hope it isn't too snore inducing. Thanks to everyone (seriously) who continues to read this work, comment, subscribe, etc., because without y'all I probably wouldn't keep going.

As Gwen stepped into the foyer of the Ghislain estate, one footman checked a list for her name, and another footman divested Gwen of her cloak with the approval of the first. To say she was feeling incredibly self-conscious was a bit of an understatement. In point of fact, as she reached the pinnacle of the stair, a more accurate way to describe her level of stress would be saying her current mood was on par with one of those dreams where she’d show up to class naked to give some kind of presentation.

“Lady Harwood of the Inquisition,” the Ghislain estate’s herald announced as Gwen toddled up the steps into the high-ceilinged foyer of the Duke’s chateau. There was an art to walking gracefully in heels with enough fabric draped over one’s person to clothe a small village, while remembering to breathe simultaneously, and it was not an art that Gwen had mastered.

She was certain her face was probably the same as the primary shade of her gown; a deep plum brocade with bronze accents that left Gwen feeling rather like a great, over-stuffed sausage. Josephine had been inordinately proud of Rosalee for the deep décolletage the elf had sculpted from a formerly modest, Fereldan frock. Now Gwen was cinched and bound within an inch of her life, and with every breath, she felt as if her uncomfortably exposed cleavage would smother her if her corset didn’t kill her first. Gwen had always found formalwear to be stifling, but this went above and beyond her previous experiences. For example: Once, she attended a Ren-Faire in period dress and literally swooned because of the sweltering heat and made worse by the damn clothing. Never again, she’d told herself at the time. Some deity somewhere was laughing their divine arse off at her.

Just getting into the stuff was a trial, and the inn had provided two servants to help Gwen dress because she couldn’t bloody well dress herself, and Cassandra was useless when it came to “ladies’ fripperies and nonsense”, as she put it.  The servant styling her hair showed Gwen sketches of several hairstyles to choose from; most of which didn’t appeal to Gwen because they were overly elaborate and ostentatious, but some were outright ridiculous. Since a plain brain was out of the question, she searched for decent compromise and found a modest up-do that proved acceptable to all parties. The only accessories she accepted was a cloak and a fan that was corded to her wrist. There was talk of plastering her face with some kind of Orlesian muck, which Gwen outright refused, but she agreed to a modest application of kohl to line her eyes.

When they’d finished with her, the person she saw in the mirror was a complete stranger to her. She was a touch thinner in the face now, though she was still plus-sized. Any physical evidence of what occurred in the bazaar earlier that day was gone thanks to the use of a potion and some of Solas’ healing skills. As she studied her reflection, she understood that her appearance in Madame de Fer’s salon would be just another performance, and this was just a costume that would allow her to slip into her role more easily. So long as she didn’t lose the core of herself, she would be fine, even if she wasn’t quite sure who she was anymore.

Returning to the present, Gwen scanned the room for a friendly face, but there was just a sea of unyielding masks with eyes she feared were judging her with every step she took. She tried to tell herself to be brave and mingle, reminding herself of everything she’d survived and accomplished since she arrived in Thedas. Or she should could do what she usually did in social situations such as these and grab a drink to nurse while watching other people mingle as she clung to stolidly to a wall in order to avoid social interaction.

Few of the guests paid her any mind, which Gweb preferred, though there were some who dared to stare at her in curiosity, if only to look away the instant Gwen met their gaze. One man among those, however, did not look away when she caught him. Instead, the man’s impolite stare intensified. He wore no mask, revealing a face that wasn’t unpleasant to look at in a broad sense. He had light eyes, short-ish brown hair, and was fairly tall. Gwen was sure many would find him more than appealing, but she did not. And while he didn’t appear to have anger or hate burning in his eyes, she still found his demeanor unsettling. He was surrounded by a group of men and women all vying for his attention, and ignoring them all just to glare at Gwen. She held his gaze for a long while, but she was first to lose her nerve and look away, choosing instead to contemplate her wineglass.

She wasn’t fond of parties generally, especially formal ones, and she knew she shouldn’t be so afraid, and yet this party and the people in it were more terrifying to her than demons. She had nothing to speak with these people about, and she wished Vivienne would show up so she could leave and return to her friends and tear off the sodding uncomfortable dress. So, as she sipped chilled white wine from a fancy crystal flute, she contemplated ways she could make a hasty escape. squirming internally all the while. The strains of someone strumming a lute floated in from another room with the tinny sound of a harpsichord in accompaniment, and she let the music wash over her, listening for it past the chatter. It reminded her a little of Bach, and with a sudden pang, she knew she would never hear Bach, or Beethoven, or any of her favorite music from home again outside of her memory, and that realization caused her physical pain.

“Welcome, my lady. Seeing the same faces at every event becomes so tiresome, but tell me, does something ail you?”

Gwen glanced up from her ruminations at the two masked guests now standing before her.

_Bless him for not calling me “Herald” at least..._

Gwen unfurled her fan, looking out coyly from behind it. “Nothing of consequence, messere. Simply too many things on my mind.” Gwen was used to giving satisfactory non-answers for years, and it worked.

The couple introduced themselves with a long string of titles and names she’d have difficulty pronouncing at the best of times, let alone remembering.

“So,” the man said, “you must be a guest of Madame de Fer, or are you here for Duke Bastien?”

“I was invited by Madame Vivienne.”

“Ah! Are you here on business?”

“I am,” Gwen said with a nod. “But I hope to enjoy myself while I’m here,” she lied.

“I admit that I have heard the most curious tales of you. Might there be any truth to the stories?”

“What have you heard of me, my lady?” Gwen sighed inwardly.

“Some say that when the Veil was torn open that Andraste herself delivered you from the Fade. There were also stories of you being immensely tall and breathing blue flames.”

 _GodDAMMIT, Varric_. *lineface*

“Well, as you can see, I am not tall, though it would be an interesting trick to breathe blue fire. As for Andraste, I will only say that if the songs give people hope to continue on through difficult times, I won’t deny them that comfort, gross exaggeration or no.”

“Only for the best effect, I’m sure. The Inquisition as a whole is a ripe subject for—“

“Pah! The Inquisition. What a load of pig shit! Washed up Sisters, and crazed Seekers? As if anyone could take them seriously. Everyone knows it’s just an excuse for a bunch of political outcasts to grab for power.”

_Ah, the Marquis de Shitlick has arrived…_

The man was quite pickled as Gwen could smell the stench wine coming off him from several feet away. “Ah, a man of the people, eh? Tell us how you would go about sealing the Breach, since you obviously know what’s best for Thedas. Perhaps it is the Maker’s Will that _you_ lead us all to salvation, messere.”

“You dare to speak of the Maker's Will with foul magic dripping from your hands? We know what your Inquisition truly is. If you were a woman of honor, you would step outside and answer the charges.”

 _Marquis, go home. You’re drunk_.

Gwen took a step back as the Marquis reached for his blade, lunging toward her with a sneer, only to literally be frozen mid-motion. “My dear Marquis, how exceedingly common of you to use such vulgar language in _my_ house… to _my_ guests. You know such rudeness is intolerable,” Vivienne drawled as she made her entrance with her expected level of savoir faire.

The Marquis’ teeth chattered as. “Madame Vivienne! I-I humbly beg your pardon!”

Vivienne circled slowly around him. “As well you should,” she said with a lofty click of her tongue. “Whatever am I going to do with you, my dear?”

“P-p-please,” the Marquis stammered.

Vivienne shifted her full attention to Gwen, and spoke gravely, “And what of you, my lady? You are the wounded party in this unfortunate affair. What would _you_ have me do with this foolish, foolish little man?”

“Do as you like with him. His fate is of no consequence to me.”

Gwen enjoyed the verbal beat-down Vivienne gave the Marquis.Vivienne was a woman who understood that cutting words were weapons that damaged as effectively as blade, and sometimes more so when used judiciously. And Vivienne wielded her words with understated, but deadly precision.

“Poor little marquis, issuing challenges and hurling weak insults like some Fereldan dog lord,” Vivienne derided, freeing the lord of the spell with a snap of her perfectly manicured fingers. She continued to speak over him as he coughed and sputtered. “And all dressed up in that unfortunate doublet. Didn’t your Aunt Solange give that to you to wear to the Grand Tourney? Oh, and to think all of the brave chevaliers who will be competing left for Markham this morning… and you’re still here.”

The man’s head drooped, and Gwen noticed the faint wobble of his chin, and Vivienne picked up on that too, like a shark scenting blood in the water.

_FINISH HIM!_

“Were you hoping to sate your damaged pride by defeating the Herald of Andraste in a public duel? Or perhaps you hoped her skill would put an end to the misery of your failure?”

_FATALITY!_

 “Run along now, my dear. Do give my regards to your aunt. We miss _her_ presence here in the capital.”

The Marquis, still hacking and shivering, fled from the chateau as fast as his ugly shoes could take him, tripping over the threshold as the door slammed behind him. Gwen was pretty sure that the door had literally smacked the Marquis on the arse on the way out. Fitting.

_FLAWLESS VICTORY!_

“That takes care of the Marquis. He shan’t bother you again, my dear. Not if he values his life,” Vivienne said, turning to Gwen wearing a winning smile. “Now that’s over with, let me say how delighted I am that you could attend this little gathering. I’ve so wanted to meet you.” Gwen felt more than saw Vivienne’s sharp gaze sweep over her from head to toe, her mask lending an implacability to her expression that Gwen found unnerving. She suspected, however by the tone of her voice, that Madame de Fer was underwhelmed by what she saw, though she could be reading too much into it.

“I would very much like to speak with you in private, of course,” Vivienne continued, “but first, let me offer you more rafraîchissement to help soothe your nerves.” Another snap of Vivienne’s fingers brought forth a servant appeared bearing a gleaming tray of fancy wineglasses. Vivienne plucked a crystal flute of sparkling white wine from the tray and handed it to Gwen, who offered a quiet word thanks of before taking the tiniest of sips. The bubbles tickled her nose.

“Walk with me. We can take a turn around the family gallery in relative privacy,” Vivienne said.

Gwen followed the enchanter to a long gallery where moonlight spilled brightly from the high windows and enchanted sconces glowed at intervals along the walls, driving away some of the shadows as well as illuminating the Ghislain family paintings.

“Now, allow me to properly introduce myself. I am Vivienne, First Enchanter of Montsimmard and Enchantress to the Imperial Court.”

As they strode along, Gwen was reminded of the many historical buildings she’d visited as a child when she was dragged on a tour of the British Isles. Her father was researching their family tree. He had also wanted to take mother to France so she could see her family, while they were in the vicinity, but her mother refused stating there was nothing there for her. Gwen and her sister had been disappointed, but whatever their mother wished was their father’s command. Come to think of it, Vivienne reminded her of her mother somewhat in temperament. Cool, unyielding, strong in her opinions and unafraid of showing her disapproval. Gwen’s mother had always been very… disciplined. Her father said once that Gwen’s mother had served in the military before Gwen was born. It was one of the few personal things Gwen learned of her mother’s youth before everything fell apart. She’d accepted that her mother hatred of her for years, but the pain never let up. Now she would never know why, and perhaps it was better that way.

Gwen blinked away the cobwebs of unwanted memories and replied, “I am honored to meet you, Madame Vivienne. Apologies if I seem out of sorts at the moment. Today has been somewhat… trying.”

“I heard of your standoff against the templars in the marketplace. I was positively shocked to hear that they would assault a member of the Chantry, and it was certainly brave of you to do what you did. Foolish, but brave.”

“I would agree more with the former than the latter, considering what my actions got me.”

“The way public opinion in Val Royeaux has swung overwhelmingly in your favor since the incident, it would appear your suffering wasn’t for naught.”

“So, you wished to chat,” Gwen said, wanting to change the subject. “But not about the marketplace, I’m sure.”

“Yes. So, to the point at hand. With Divine Justinia dead, the Chantry, as you witnessed today, is in shambles. It is my fervent belief that the Inquisition alone is capable of the restoring sanity and order to our frightened people. So, as the leader of the last _loyal_ mages in Thedas, I feel it only right, and necessary that I lend my support to your cause.”

The conversation proceeded from there, civil, cordial, and revealing little that Gwen didn’t already know, though again, she feigned ignorance about many things. Gwen naturally accepted Madame de Fer’s offer, and while Gwen did not agree with all of Vivienne’s views or methods, the woman had her uses, and Gwen was practical enough to know that. Gwen also had great respect for the woman’s strength of character and her conviction.

“Great things await us on the horizon, my dear. I can promise you that. You’ll see.”

Footsteps moving at a decent announced they had company, and within moments one of the masked servants scurried into view, bowing low to Madame Vivienne and Gwen before speaking. “Apologies for the interruption, Madame Vivienne. One of the guests…”

The man who’d been staring at Gwen in the foyer also appeared on the heels of the servant, and a chill ran down her spine, putting her on her guard. Something about this guy sat wrong in her gut.

Vivienne sneered. “Let me guess. The Comte de Rognier is too far in his cups and refuses to leave?”

The servant nodded. “Oui, madame, but he is also,” the elf gulped audibly, “dancing in the fountain. In his smallclothes,” the last spoken in a breathy squeak.

Vivienne made a noise of disapproval. “Tell me no one has summoned the gendarmes.”

“Not yet, madame,” the strange nobleman replied smoothly. “I told them to allow you to handle it first.”

“Ah, Lord Trevelyan. I am grateful for your timely intrusion.

“Of course,” he said, his eyes Gwen as he addressed Vivienne.

“I suppose I must handle the comte.” She turned to Gwen. “I apologize for cutting our visit short, though I will be traveling back to Haven with you. I hired a merchant ship of excellent reputation named ‘Jewel of Antiva’ to transport us across the Waking Sea. I will ensure the captain and crew of the ship you arrived in are compensated for their time. I expect we shall leave for Haven as swiftly as possible, yes?”

“Indeed, Madame Vivienne. That is the plan,” Gwen replied, somehow not entirely surprised that Vivienne would do something a tad on the presumptuous side.

“Excellent. Lord Trevelyan, would you be so kind as to escort the Herald wherever she wishes to go? You had expressed a wish to meet her as well, as I recall.”

“I did, and I do,” he chuckled, but it was a hollow sound. “It would be my honor to escort such a distinguished guest, Madame Vivienne.”

Vivienne turned on that winning smile again. “Good,’ she said, striding briskly out of the gallery with the servant in tow, leaving Gwen alone with one Lord Trevelyan.

 _Shit_ …

Gwen drained her glass as the click of Madame Vivienne’s heels vanished, the surrounding shadows suddenly seeming darker and more menacing. She was probably overreacting. Maybe the guy just had wicked resting bitch face? The man in question cleared his throat to gain Gwen’s attention, and she reluctantly looked at her fellow guest.

He graced her a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Madame Vivienne left me to introduce myself so I shall.” He took her marked hand in his, stooping slightly as he lifted her hand to his lips and said, “I am Lord Maxwell Kenrith Trevelyan, and it is my great pleasure to meet you, my lady Herald.”

Gwen doubted the sincerity of his warmth down to her bones, and his touch made her skin crawl. She tamped down her instinct to yank her hand from his and run.

“I hope that your silence doesn’t mean you’re intimidated by my title, Herald. After all, a lord is nothing to a chosen servant of the Maker and his bride,” Maxwell said, his mouth still tilted up in a disingenuous smile.

Gwen flushed, knowing the wine just made it worse. “I am so sorry, my lord. I am pleased to make your acquaintance, but today has been a long one and I am rather tired. I should be seeking my bed rather than socializing.”

“Really? ‘Tis early yet,” Trevelyan said, stepping into her personal space, close enough for her to feel his body heat through the many layers of her petticoats. “Though if it is a bed you seek, perhaps you would like to see mine?”

Gwen’s jaw dropped, and her glass slipped from her fingers, making her jolt when it shattered on the floor. “I—what?”

_Well, that escalated quickly._

He took a step closer, and Gwen took a step back, finding herself trapped between Trevelyan and the wall. “Forward of me, I know, but I’ve been rather taken with you ever since I first saw you keeping to yourself in the parlor. My-- admiration grew when I saw how well you verbally sparred with the Marquis before Madame Vivienne stepped in.”

_You should have run. Why didn’t you run?_

Her heart beat like a hummingbird’s wings inside her chest, Lord Trevelyan caged her in with his arms. She didn’t want to insult him, but she also feared he wouldn’t take no for an answer. She didn’t want to resort to magic and have to hurt the man, and the stiffness of her corset wouldn’t allow her to duck out of her position and make an escape. She pressed her hands firmly against his chest and pushed, to no avail. The man was pretty fucking solid, and her nerves were too frayed to trust in her ability to cast anything that wouldn’t kill or seriously maim the man. “I’m, erm, flattered, my lord, but I don’t—”

“Words aren’t needed, my lady,” he said, pressing closer, crushing Gwen’s arms between their bodies. He bent his head and pressed his lips to hers, and Gwen she scrunched her eyes shut, screaming on the inside, filled with complete and utter revulsion. As she readied herself to let loose her magic, someone clicking their tongue stayed her hand.

“You know,” a man said, “It is considered breach in etiquette in almost every country I’ve ever visited to kiss a lady against her wishes. Ruder still to pull a dagger on her while one does so.”

Gwen’s panicked brain barely registered that Lord Trevelyan was no longer touching her until she heard a grunt, a meaty thud, and the sound of something metallic hitting the marble floor. Free of the man’s arms and dared to open her eyes just a crack, widening when she saw the lord was on his knees with the gleaming edge of a dagger pressed to his neck. The man holding the dagger was hooded, and had wrenched the lord’s arm behind his back, pinning his wrist between his shoulder blades.

“You were unwilling, my lady, were you not?”

Gwen nodded in mute reply.

“Ah, I am glad I did not err in judgement, unlike you, my lord. It is a pity that I need to kill such a pretty man, but I must.” The lord hissed as the dagger bit into the skin of his throat.

“Wait…” Gwen found herself saying.

“Of course,” the stranger said, “Do you have a preference in how he dies? Or perhaps my lady wishes to grant this man mercy?”

“I want to know why,” Gwen said, looking at Lord Trevelyan with revulsion burning in the back of her throat.

“Why he wishes to see you dead? Hmm, yes, I admit that I am somewhat curious about this myself. So,” the man (who sounded Antivan maybe?) eased pressure on the dagger. “It is in your best interest to answer quickly and honestly, my lord.”

Trevelyan bared his teeth. “This maleficar whore killed my sister and everyone at the bloody Conclave. What more reason do I need to slay this bi--”

The nobleman’s unconscious body flopped face down onto the marble floor after the stranger smacked the butt of his dagger against the lord’s temple and let him fall.

“I hope that answered your question. I apologize for silencing him, but I did not care for his tone,” the stranger said, sheathing his weapon.

Gwen remained glued to the wall, and asked, “And why are you here?”

“Please forgive me if I cannot give you a full answer to your question, but rest assured that I am only here to see that you come to no harm.” The man brushed his hood back, revealing long, light-colored hair, and elven ears to the light. If those things and his accent hadn’t been enough to clue her in to who this was, the tattoo’s curving along the left side of his face did.

 _Holy balls, that’s_ …

“Zevran Arainai, at your service,” he said, bowing with great flourish. “Well, technically I’m in the service of another, but I _am_ here to see you come to no harm. You are unharmed, yes?”

(((o(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)o)))

“Zevran?” Gwen said, feeling dizzy with relief. Then she realized she was acting like she knew him, even though he didn’t know her. Or did he? Considering that he’d obviously been keeping an eye on her for someone. She’d worry about who later. “Th-the same Zevran who was a companion of the Hero of Ferelden?”

Zev beamed broadly. “I am. And you know of my exploits with Alim Surana? Ah, such memories I have of our time together. What tales I could tell! The death, the darkspawn, the massages... I miss my friend greatly. He was a powerful mage, and I admit he was a marvelous kisser, but alas, his heart was meant for another. We remained friends even still, and I have no regrets.”

Curious as Gwen was to know who the Hero of Ferelden ended up romancing, reverting to fangirl mode was probably not a good idea. Then again, maybe a little fangirling wouldn’t hurt. “I’ll admit, after, erm, all the tales I’ve heard, I’ve become somewhat of a fan of yours.”

Back home, when she’d finally managed a playthrough where she didn’t romance Alistair with her warden, she wasn’t disappointed. Zev couldn’t pick a lock for shit, but he stealthed his way into her heart. Meeting him in person was throwing her off kilter.

_JFC calm your ovaries, woman! Remember that giant hole in the sky?_

 One dark eyebrow rose. “Oh? Is that so?” Zevran’s full lips curved up into a wicked smile. “Please I am to hear it, bella. I am a fan of yours as well. The way you sing must make the spirits weep.”

“The way I sing? How do you…?” She blushed, realizing he must have been aboard the Seawolf and she hadn’t recognized him. “Were you…?”

“On your ship? Yes. Though I had not seen you prior to joining the crew. I am sorry if this disturbs you, but now that I have the information required of me by my employer, you need not fret that I will continue to do so.”

Gwen realized that she really needed to pay better attention to her fucking surroundings if she had missed seeing _this_ man after observing the crew of that ship.

“If it helps, maintaining the accent of a Starkhavener was challenging.”

Her eyebrows shot upward. “Starkhavener?” She narrowed her eyes at him as things slowly clicked into place.

“Aye lass,” he began, “I see ye remember.”

Her face probably glowed she was blushing so hard. She just stared, mouth agape until finally she laughed. “Unbelievable. That was well played, messere. Maker’s balls,” she said, shaking her head at herself for being so dense.

“I am pleased that you have a sense of humor about such things. Few do,” he said.

“I think I would be in a great deal of hurt if I didn’t, messere.”

“Speaking of which, you never answered my question as to whether you were hurt, my lady,” he said, stepping close enough to tilt her chin up toward the light, inspecting her for damage. “Though I can understand how anyone could be overwhelmed by my presence.”

She gave an unladylike snort. “Aside from wanting to scrub the memory of Lord Trevelyan’s mouth away with fire, yes. I’m fine. Thank you. I had no wish to really hurt the man.”

Zevran took a step closer, his lips curved up in a sensual smirk. He gazed with half-lidded eyes at her lips as he said, his voice sultry, “Fire, you say? I can think of one kind that might work to expel him from your memory without causing lasting harm. If I might have your permission, of course.” The last said with his dark eyes holding hers, and her heart fluttered.

_You shouldn’t. Bad idea. Stop. Stop it._

“Wh-what kind of fire?” she asked, her breath catching in her throat.

_Hoe, don’t you do it._

“Antivan fire, of course,” Zevran purred.

Gwen bit her lower lip, grinning. “Oh that was bad.”

“Then allow me to show you something good?” he murmured.

Her mouth went dry, and she grew lightheaded.

_OMG! Don’t!_

**_Shut. Up. Brain. YOLO!_ **

Gwen nodded and whispered, “Please.”

Zev smiled and cupped her cheek. “As you wish.”

His lips, warm and full, brushed chastely against hers, and his other hand slid to her waist, squeezing gently, but he didn’t press for more. Gwen rested her hands tentatively on Zev’s hips, feeling the warmth of him through the leather of his armor, and she really hoped he would press for more, and demonstrated as much when she pulled him closer. The rogue chuckled deep in his throat and began teasing her with a series of perfect closed-mouth kisses, and fuck she was drowning. Fuck, how long had it been since she had kissed anyone or vice versa and felt like this? This was good. This was fabulous! She didn’t need more than this. Or so she thought until the hand at her waist skimmed up over her ribcage, then paused just short of her décolletage, following the curve of her breast over her corset. She whimpered softly, and he smiled against her lips as one calloused thumb brushed over her exposed sternum. Gwen gasped against his grinning lips, and Zevran took the opening as his tongue swept deftly into her mouth. She melted against him as Zev reminded her what a good kiss felt like. Her toes curled as he broke the kiss, his hot mouth burning a trail from her lips to her collarbone and back, both of them panting heavily as he leaned his forehead against hers.

“You certainly kiss as I would imagine one blessed by the Maker would kiss.”

“Maker,” she breathed.

“Call me Zev, please,” he murmured, putting a little distance between them.

She huffed a soft laugh. “Thank you, Zev.”

“And I thank you, my lady. Sadly, I cannot stay and give you… more, though I very, very much wish I could. I dearly hope we meet again, Gwen, Herald of Andraste.” He dipped to brush his lips over hers a final time then melted into the shadows.

“Me too, Zev,” she said softly, her hand moving to her lips as she grinned. “Antivan fire, indeed,” she said, chuckling to herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *whistles innocently and adjusts the halo resting upon her horns*
> 
>  
> 
> Follow me on tumblr @ mmesnappysnips.tumblr.com for the odd update on this fic and other Dragon Age related shtuff.


	24. Breeches Rhymes With...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sera joins the gang, and later tempers flare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look! I'm getting almost consistent at this posting new chapters thing! Thanks as always for reading. I hope I've done Sera justice.
> 
> *Zero beta so all failures are mine own.

Madame de Fer was beside herself when she learned of what Lord Trevelyan had attempted under her roof, and she was confused as to why Gwen hadn’t outright killed the man. When Gwen explained that she thought conscripting the Marcher lordling was a more appropriate penance for his infraction, and that would also give him what he sought at the same time, Vivienne approved of Gwen’s decision. She also agreed that Trevelyan’s noble ties, while not carrying a great deal of weight, might prove of some use and praised Gwen’s pragmatism. Vivienne vowed Lord Trevelyan would make it aboard their ship unharmed where he would be confined for the duration.

It took ages for Gwen to slip away from the party, far later than planned, thanks to curious guests who plagued her every step until she finally managed to get out through the front door. Though Vivienne gave Gwen the use of one of the household carriages, she was still running late. When she arrived at the inn where her companions had been waiting, she had enough time to change into more comfortable shoes, but little else. The fully-armed foursome bundled into the waiting carriage and once they were underway, Cassandra and Varric both inquired as to how the evening went, Solas seemingly content to simply listen. Gwen relayed most of the events from the party, but said nothing of Lord Trevelyan, or the other… thing. She knew would have to tell Cassandra about Trevelyan later, and she was sure the Seeker would interrogate him at the first opportunity. Gwen would definitely _not_ be mentioning anything that happened with a certain dashing elven assassin though, and she had to wipe the smile off her face at the memory.

The coach rolled to a stop about a block away from their destination, and Gwen thanked the driver, asking him if he would wait for them to return, offering him a few royals for his trouble (from the coin purse she’d had no qualms “borrowing” from one Lord “Pratwell” Trevelyan while he was still out cold on Madame Vivienne’s floor) and the driver agreed to wait as long as they needed.

The party walked the short distance to the address in Sera’s note through streets lit by lamps filled with enchanted chalk, and the bright light of one of Thedas’ moons, though Gwen had yet to see a second one.

Varric picked the lock to the courtyard gate with ease, and everyone was tense and quiet, but only Gwen had some awareness of what was to come. It was too quiet though as she raised a barrier over the group in preparation for what expected as they rounded the corner into the shadows. Strangely, the outer part of the yard was empty of guards and Varric pushed past her, moving silently up the steps to the entrance to the inner yard. He put his ear to the door and raised a finger to his lips as the rest of them caught up. Cassandra had to help Gwen up the stairs the dress was a bitch to move around in, comfortable shoes or no, but she managed to do it without making excessive noise.

“I hear one person pacing on the other side,” Varric whispered.

“Don’t tell me we came all this way at this unholy hour for _one_ person,” Cassandra grumbled softly.

“Alright, Seeker, I won’t.” Varric smirked.

“Let’s just be ready for whatever we might find on the other side, hmm?”

Everyone fell into their battle stances and Gwen renewed the barrier, opening the door to the inner yard. One step into the yard, then another, and nothing. The others followed her, and she took a step into the moonlight.

“Gwen!” Cassandra shouted in alarm as she tried to yank Gwen backward. Something with a reddish glow soared at her from the shadows, and thanks to Cassandra’s reflexes, it barely missed hitting her in the face. And it was a good thing too, as glass exploded against the barrier over her skirts in a shower of sparks that caught fire and held. She felt her barrier melt away under the flames and panic begin to take hold as her petticoats added fuel to the blaze. But Solas was quick to act, casting a mild ice spell on her skirts. She couldn’t move because her the bottom of her dress was frozen, but at least she wasn’t on fire. The dress was ruined and Josie wouldn’t be happy about it, but Gwen kept in mind that it would be an excellent argument against wearing gowns in the future.

“Herald of Andraste!” The tosspot they came for finally emerged from his hiding place and swaggered to the center of the moonlit courtyard, striking a melodramatic pose. “How much did you expend to discover me, hmm? It must have weakened the Inquisition immeasurably!”

Gwen snorted. “If you say so, mate. I haven’t the vaguest clue who you are.”

“You don’t fool me! I am TOO important for this to be a coincidence. My efforts will survive in victories against you elsewhere! Guards!”

Five guardsmen trotted into the courtyard, proud and utterly without pants. One of them wasn’t even wearing any smalls. Monsieur Le Douche engaged in a hurried, whispered exchange with his men.

“What in the world?” Cassandra said, bemused.

“Is it No-pants Friday and nobody told us?” Varric chuckled.

“I think it more accurate to say it is Trouserless Tuesday,” Solas quipped.

“Looks like these guards were the ones caught,” Gwen said, “with their pants down.”

_( •_•) ( •_•) >⌐■-■ (⌐■_■)_

Solas and Cassandra heaved audible sighs, and Varric snorted a laugh. “That was bad.”

A loud and shrill whistle cut through the air, and all eyes went to its source; the slender shadow of Sera perched at the roof’s edge, her silhouette limned in moonlight as she nocked an arrow. “Oi, shitweasel! Just say ‘What!’”

“What is the—“

 _THWP-SQUELCH!_ “Urckk…” _Thud_.

The guards just stood staring at their fallen employer, at which point Gwen’s party moved in to attack. Gwen was still stuck in her frozen dress, and she kicked and used her staff blade to break herself out of the burnt shell of her skirts, while at least trying to shield her companions. “Never wearing a bloody dress again, I swear it!”

Sera sprang nimbly down from the roof, landing soundlessly beside Gwen and said, “Sorry I’m late.” Then she helped free Gwen from the remnants of the dress.

“Thanks,” Gwen said, smiling gratefully.

“Sure thing, duckie.” And with a wink, Sera joined the fray. “BUTT, BUTT, BUTT!” Each word punctuated with an arrow to a posterior.

The guard sans smalls charged Gwen at full dangle, and she couldn’t help her laughter. “Oh, I could’ve done without seeing that,” Gwen said, shaking her head as she turned him into an icicle and took a few steps back. “Always wondered if there’d be shrinkage from that,” Gwen mused. “Now I know.”

Sera cackled, “Poor, tiny sod!” _THOK!_ An arrow pierced another guard’s helm, and he dropped to the ground.

Cassandra finished the frozen bloke off with a shield bash, shaking her head in disapproval at Gwen and Sera. “Stop fooling about!”

The rest were dispatched with relative ease between the five of them, with the only casualty of Gwen’s party being her dress.

 _Bummer_ …

Sera made a sound of disgust as she squatted beside the body of the noble she’d shot in the face, whose body, Gwen noted, was still twitching minutely. The rogue didn’t even look up as she spoke, “Was a well squishy one, this, but _you_ heard me, yeah? ‘Just say, “What.”’ She shook her head. “Rich tits.” One hand curling around the shaft of the arrow as she put a foot on the dead man’s chest, and continued conversationally, “Always trying for more than they deserve. ‘Blah, blah, blah!’” The last was more of a grunt Sera tried to tug the arrow free. “’Obey me! Arrow in my face!’” Sera snorted, and the shaft snapped. “Tch, shite.”  She tossed the ruined projectile aside.

Gwen glanced back at her companions, all of whom were either too stunned to speak or waiting for the punchline rather than doing their customary looting.

Sera straightened up to her full height, turning to Gwen with a grin, the dead noble and his guards temporarily forgotten. “So you got my note! Glad to see you’re...” She tilted her head, brows drawn together in a thoughtful frown as she studied Gwen. “Well, a lot shorter than I expected, and I didn’t think you’d be so, ph-er-fancy.” Sera illustrated her point holding her arms in out front of her chest like she was lugging watermelons.

Gwen wished at that moment that she hadn’t foolishly left her cloak at the inn, as the heat of embarrassment flooded her cheeks.

Sera continued undaunted, “But hey! It’s all good, innit? Important thing is: you glow, yeah? You’re the Herald thingy?” Sera pointed to Gwen’s marked hand, even though Gwen hadn’t felt the mark react to anything in the vicinity. She wondered if it was just something elven or dwarven eyes might see, since it was still fairly dark in the courtyard, even with brightness of the moon in the sky.

“Erm, right. Sure. That’s me.”

“So you are the one who led us here? Who are you, and why did these people want to attack the Herald?” Cassandra said warily.

Sera looked at Cassandra. “Right, so I’m Sera. My people just said the Inquisition should get a look at that wanker. I meant to be here a bit earlier, but I got, er, distracted by a nice peach. Worth it though, ‘coz that tip about their equipment shed was perfect. Heh, can’t believe they ran out here with no breeches.”

Gwen chuckled. “Yeah, who does that, really?”

“Sooo, Herald of Andraste,” Sera said, rocking back on her heels as she eyed Gwen. “I saw what you did at the market. Now I’ve met you, and well you’re kinda weird, but maybe my kinda weird. So I’d like to join, you know the Inquisition or whatever. And before you say no, hear me out, right? I got the tip about these arseholes from my friends. My friends want to help you, and so do I, so really you’re getting way more than just me.”

“What are you on about? What friends?” Cassandra asked with a frown.

“‘The Friends of Red Jenny.’ That’s me! Well, I’m one.” And Sera started counting on her fingers. “So is a fence in Montfort, and some woman in Kirkwall. There were three in Starkhaven. Brothers I think. Loads more everywhere. Point is, it’s just name, right? It’s a bunch of little people from all over who’ve joined up to stick it to nobles we hate. So _here_ , in your face, I’m Sera. ‘The Friends of Red Jenny’ are out _there._ So, I use them to help you. So you get the Friends and me, plus arrows.”

Cassandra made a noise of frustration. “I don’t understand. Are you offering us more spies?”

Sera looked at the Seeker and launched into her personal brand of colorfully explaining things. “Right, so here’s how it is. You ‘important’ people are all up here, shoving your cods around…”

Gwen watched the expressions on Cassandra’s face as Sera continued and Cassandra’s confusion was complete by the time Sera was through. Cassandra leaned toward Gwen and whispered in her ear, “What is she saying?”

Gwen bit her lip to keep herself from laughing aloud. “Don’t worry, Seeker. I’ll handle this.”

Cassandra shook her head, “Please do.” And she went to help with the looting efforts instead.

Sera stared Gwen, one foot tapping out her impatience. “Look, do you need people or not? I just want things to get back to normal. Like you?”

“Yeah, alright, Sera. You’re in.”

“YES!” Sera bounced on the balls of her feet. “Get in good before you’re too big to like!” Then she crushed Gwen in a quick hug, releasing her just as abruptly. “That’ll keep your breeches where they should be, not that you’re wearing any right now.” And the elf waggled her eyebrows at Gwen. “Speakin’ of, you’ve got merchants that’ll buy that pish, yeah? All these breeches have gotta be worth something.”

“Yeah, we’ll get it sorted back in Haven.”

\-----

 

A little over a week later, their party arrived back in Haven. It was late in the afternoon and they were greeted at the gate by Jospehine and Leliana, but the Commander was conspicuously absent from the welcoming committee. All the better for Gwen, because she wasn’t keen on seeing him anyway, or so she told herself.

Gwen split from the group leaving everyone else to explain the particulars regarding one bound Lord Maxwell Trevelyan, and not because she felt any guilt about it. Rather, she’d been dealing with a very full bladder and had no desire to wait in a long line to use the latrine. So she dropped her pack and things off in her cabin, then made beeline for the Chantry and the relative cleanliness and privacy of the garderobe.

Afterward, she washed her hands in a chipped basin in the hall outside the garderobe, and refrained from snatching the pleasant smelling soap. At this point, though, she felt a bit like any soap was bound to smell more pleasant than she did. But with everyone one in the party rising to the same level of ripeness (except Vivienne, who Gwen figured had some kind of ‘Always smells like roses’ spell,) her nose had grown accustomed to her own stench. She considered getting a bath in, but she had bloody reports to finish, as Cassandra had reminded her the entire trip back. So, instead of having a bath, Gwen went to the war room where she knew she could pen her reports without being disturbed too often. She took a seat at the writing desk in the far corner of the room and began to scribble away, relating events as best as she could from her perspective. She was so intensely focused on her task that she didn’t notice when someone entered the room. When that someone cleared his throat to alert her to his presence from right behind her, Gwen nearly jumped out of her skin, and made a mess of the page she’d been writing

“Damn,” she cursed softly, trying to soak up the excess ink with the blotter.

“Lady Herald.”

 _Cullen_ …

She knew she wouldn’t be able to avoid him forever, but now that he was here, she wanted to disappear. She wasn’t ready to talk with him about anything, and she had no idea what to say because on some level, she remembered she was supposed to be angry with him. So she stalled. “Well, it looks like this page is salvageable,” she said, still not acknowledging the Commander as she continued to blot, even after she no longer needed to. That was at least until Cullen slapped his gloved hand over the page.

Gwen straightened in her chair, swallowing her tiny bit of panic at the minor display of temper. She didn’t have to look at him to know he was angry. She could feel it coming off him in waves. “I-is there something you need, Commander?”

Cullen did not mince words. “Are you mad?!”

Gwen blinked as she twisted around to peer up at him in confusion. “I’m sorry?”

“You ruddy well should be!”

She bristled and stood, glaring up at him. “Look, I don’t know who pissed in your porridge, Commander, but I have no idea what you’re yelling at me about.”

“Truly? Then let me make it clear: What in the world made you provoke the templars and the Lord Seeker of the Order?! What were you thinking?! They could have killed you!”

She closed her eyes long enough to take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Well, they didn’t,” she said, the muscles in her jaw clenched. “You must be terribly disappointed about that.”

“Disap--? What? Of course not! Why would you think such a thing?”

She looked at the remnants of his templar robes that made up the bulk of his signature coat and the Sword of Mercy insignia stamped into his gauntlets. She thought back to the moment that enchater had interrupted their little “moment” and the way Cullen had leapt away from her like she was cursed. She thought of how she felt when the enchanter made a crude insinuation about her and Cullen, and the way Cullen’s vehement denial that made it clear it would never be a possibility, and how utterly worthless and foolish that made her feel. She was a means to an end. A tool in the shape of a mage. She opened her mouth prepared to fire back when the door to the war room opened and Cassandra, Leliana, and Josephine filed into the room.

“Ah, there you both are! We’ve been looking for you,” Cassandra declared as she took a seat at the table. No one seemed aware of interrupting anything. And naturally, as soon as the other women entered, Cullen put plenty of space between himself and Gwen. She’d been so angry that she hadn’t noticed how close they’d actually been.

Gwen managed to recover quickly, at least. “I was just finishing up my reports in here when the Commander came in. He wanted to ask me about what happened in Val Royeaux. So it’s good you’re all here, so I needn’t repeat myself,” Gwen said, gracing Cullen with an unvarnished glare as she moved to sit beside Cassandra at the table. Cullen moved stiffly to his own chair, as Leliana and Josephine took their places as well. The look Cullen shot Gwen in response suggested that their chat wasn’t over. From that point on during the meeting, she refused to meet his gaze or address him directly, because _she_ was a mature adult.

They discussed the mission on the Storm Coast, the influx of new recruits, and when the subject of Blackwall came up, Leliana touched on the Grey Warden issue. It was finally agreed upon by all that there might be something to the spymaster’s suspicions (and Gwen died a little more inside keeping her knowledge to herself) but that sealing the Breach took precedence over whatever was happening with the Wardens.

Josephine was over the moon that Madame Vivienne had joined their cause, and then they had a detailed discussion about what happened at the Summer Bazaar, ending with Fiona’s offer to meet with the mages.

Cullen had no qualms in voicing his objections. “So we are to completely discount the templar order? We have Ser Barris, but surely we could find a way to appeal to the Lord Seeker?”

“You weren’t there, Cullen. The Lord Seeker discounted both the Inquisition and the Herald, but there is still some hope. After all, Ser Barris knows who salvaged from whatever plans the Lord Seeker has for the Order.”

“I would say I am surprised that the others continue to follow the Lord Seeker blindly, but I know how difficult it is to break away,” Cullen said, his tone subdued.

“It is sad indeed that Ser Barris was the only templar present in Val Royeaux brave enough to take a stand against the Lord Seeker, especially after what he allowed to happen to the Herald,” Leliana agreed.

“That wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t foolishly thrown herself in front of the templars and deliberately put herself in harm’s way.”

Gwen remained silent, but felt his eyes on her.

Cassandra came to her defense. “Saying that will not change what the past, Cullen. It is done.”

“Public opinion about the Herald and the Inquisition has changed for the better since that day as well,” Josephine added. “We have received an outpouring of support from nobles from all over Thedas. In fact, just this morning, a missive from Starkhaven arrived with a donation and a pledge of support from Prince Vael himself.” The ambassador beamed.

Leliana leaned forward, plucking one of the raven tokens from the table and fidgeted with it. “The Chantry’s own opinion of the Herald has also been swayed for the better with her defense of a Revered Mother. According to Mother Giselle, while the clerics have yet to reverse their stance on their declaration of heresy, there have been rumblings of change in that direction.”

 “Mistress Harwood, you’ve spoken very little. Do you have anything to add?” Josephine queried.

“Not as such, no.”

“And what are we to do with Lord Trevelyan?”

“You had every right to kill him, you know,” Leliana said.

Gwen sighed. “Killing him was not an answer, and Vivienne agreed. So I would recommend Lord Trevelyan be convinced that conscription is preferable to death, and that he willingly notify his family of his fervent desire to serve the Inquisition in our mission find the party responsible for the death of Divine Justinia, his sister, and all the other victims of the explosion at the Conclave.”

“You have a point. The man revealed himself to be an ass and a fool during my interrogation, but he may yet be turned to higher purpose,” Cassandra said, looking like she smelled something foul speaking of the man.

Gwen looked at Leliana. “Is a task you think you can manage, Sister?”

Leliana nodded with a twinkle in her eye. “Oh yes. I shall see it done with all haste.” The spymaster rose from her chair and with a slight bow, slipped out of the war room. Gwen almost pitied Trevelyan for a second. Almost.

“Back to the subject of the meeting offered by Grand Enchanter Fiona,” Cullen said irritably, and Gwen chanced a look in his direction. What she saw caused her some concern as she finally truly looked at him. He looked haggard; there was a pallor to his skin and a gauntness to his cheeks, further emphasized by thicker growth of stubble than he normally sported. His eyes were slightly sunken and tight around the edges with dark smudges beneath, and his brow was dotted with perspiration.

Was he going through Lyrium withdrawal? When had he stopped using it? It must have been recent, which made more sense than the way the game handled it. Gwen felt a twinge of guilt for things she merely thought of saying to him.

“Gwen?”

 _Someone’s talking to you, dummy_.

“Oh, sorry. I’m just a bit, er, worn out.”

“What are we going to do about Fiona’s offer?” Cassandra prompted.

“The only thing we can do; accept and hope for the best.” Gwen shrugged.

Cullen scowled. “I say it is an unnecessary risk and we should send someone else to deal with the mages, if we are to deal with them at all, rather than seeking the aid of the templars.”

Cassandra shook her head at Cullen. “Fiona invited _Gwen_ to speak with her, so it is _Gwen_ who must go.”

“And what if this is just some kind of trap? I doubt Trevelyan will be the last to come after the Herald,” the Commander said, a noticeable tremor in his hand as he set his tankard down on the table.

Gwen glanced at Cassandra, who also seemed to notice something was off about Cullen.

 “Trap or no, we have no other options at this point,” Gwen said.

“Not true. You could still take a party to Therinfal Redoubt and—“

Cassandra stopped him. “Cullen, you know as well as I that there has been no response from the Templar Order before or since Val Royeaux. I don’t like it either, but Redcliffe and the rebel mages are our only choice.”

“Help is help, no matter what form it comes in, and arguing the point further is fruitless. I should be preparing to leave for Redcliffe instead,” Gwen said quietly.

“Who will accompany you?” Josephine asked.

“Gwen, if you do not mind, I shall remain in Haven,” Cassandra said, eyeing the Commander. “I am a terrible diplomat, as you know, but I think I can help Ser Barris in his efforts.”

“First Enchanter Vivienne was already speaking of working with Senior Enchanter Avurion to see the conscripted apostates from the Hinterlands make themselves useful, as she put it, with templar assistance of course,” Josephine added, scribbling something down on her slate.

Gwen frowned. “Let Solas work with the Senior Enchanter then, and have Blackwall assist them. I don’t want those mages to be willing to help us, not fear us, and throwing templars at them will do just that. Templars should be present just in case, so long as they keep their distance and interfere only when strictly necessary.”

“Very good, Mistress Harwood. Blackwall is a good choice.”

“I think he’ll also be effective in training new recruits.”

“He already has been, so you’re not wrong about _that_ ,” Cullen said.

Gwen gritted her teeth at Cullen’s thinly veiled jab.

 _Be compassionate. The man is obviously in pain. Yes, ripping him a new arsehole might be satisfying, but you’d feel guilty about it later_ …

Gwen ignored Cullen. “Madame Vivienne will be better suited for helping you I think, ambassador, and her connections could also be of use to furthering Cassandra and Ser Barris’ efforts with the templars.”

“She does have numerous connections, and her presence in the camp has already lifted the spirits of many.”

“Good. So I’d prefer to bring Varric, Bull, and Sera with me. So we’ll rest here for the night and be off again in the morning.”

 “Excellent. If all goes well, we will hopefully see you return with good news within the week.” Josephine curtsied as she left, calling for Rosalee as the door closed behind her.

“Are you feeling quite well, Cullen? You look a bit… peaky,” Cassandra said, concern written on her face.

“I’m fine,” Cullen gritted.

Cassandra saw right through him. “Bullshit. You should get some rest. You work too hard, Cullen.”

“It’s only a headache. There is naught to be done for it.”

Gwen felt like a lumpy third wheel, and she wanted to bolt. But she could see how much pain Cullen was in and she knew she could possibly help ease his suffering, and if she at least offer to help, she would never forgive herself.

Cassandra was frowning at Cullen. “I know you dislike using potions and avoid magic, but couldn’t you just try th--”

“I can help,” Gwen blurted out.

A slow smile spread over Cassandra’s face as clapped her hands together. Gwen wasn’t sure whether to be proud or afraid for having spoken up. “Yes, Cullen, Gwen _can_ help you. She ensured I made it through our eight days at sea a--”

Cullen rose abruptly, his chair tipping backward, crashing to the floor as he slammed his fist on the table hard enough to rattle the map markers, some toppling over. Gwen and Cassandra stared at him, wide-eyed. “I don’t need any help,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “Nor do I want any,” he said, the last directed at Gwen.

“But Cullen, surely this once…”

“I said no, Cassandra!” Then he lowered his voice, “I have duties that need seeing to.” He angrily straightened his pile of papers on the table, and the war room door slammed against the wall as he stalked out, leaving a stunned Gwen and Cassandra behind.

“The stubborn ass. I am sorry, Gwen. Cullen, the Commander, he…”

“It’s fine, Cassandra,” Gwen said, shaken by the outburst as she stared blankly at her reports. “You should go and ensure he is alright.”

Cass sighed softly. “I will. It was good of you to offer aid.” The Seeker rose and laid a hand on Gwen’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze, leaving Gwen alone in the war room once again.

Gwen tidied up the mess Cullen left behind, then sat and finished her reports, trying to keep her mind off the terrible ache in her heart. Afterward, she went Josie’s office and found Rosalee copying missives for the ambassador at a desk of her own. Gwen chatted with her for a while and found out that the elf was now the ambassador’s assistant, which was quite a promotion. Gwen was dead pleased for Rosalee, and the girl seemed happy. Rosalee was staying in the Chantry now, as a result, and apologized for being unable to keep Gwen company, which Gwen assured her was unnecessary, though Rosalee assured Gwen in turn that she oversaw who looked after Gwen’s quarters while she was away. They spoke of other things for a few more minutes, then Gwen deposited her reports on Josie’s desk and she bid Rosalee goodnight, her mood considerably lighter than when she’d entered the ambassador’s office.

 _Ah, they grow up so fast_.

Her next task was to locate desired companions and ask if they wanted to come along with her to Redcliffe. First, she sought out Sera in the tavern and found the elven rogue straddling a chair beside in a corner by herself, slicing up an apple. Had Gwen not just spent the last few days in close quarters with Sera, it might’ve been intimidating, but as soon as Sera spotted her, the elf’s face split into a grin. “HAROLD!”

That became a thing over the days Gwen had spent sharing cabins, tents, and watches with Sera.

There was a round of drunken cheers as Gwen took a seat beside the elf, shaking her head as she laughed. When the noise died down enough, she turned to Sera and said, “I thought I told you not to call me that.”

“Oh, right. Sorry. How’s tricks, Gwenniepoo?”

Gwen made a face. “Yeah, I don’t like that either.”

“Too bad, Gwenniepoo, coz it’s that or Harold. You don’t look much like a Harold neither, so, well I mean it’s up to you, right? But it could be worse. Least your name isn’t ‘Sol-ass’. Fits him though.”

“Well good thing he’s not coming with us to Redcliffe in the morning, then,” Gwen said, stealing an apple slice and shoving it in her mouth.

Sera perked up in her chair. “Us? You bringing me along then?”

Gwen finished chewing before she replied. “If you want to come, yeah.”

Sera’s lips curved in a sly smirk, “Oh, I want to come.”

“Ugh, not like that,” Gwen amended, earning a snorting laugh from Sera. “You’re terrible,” she said, grinning at the irrepressible rogue.

“Not the way I’ve heard it, but your loss. You’re fucking adorable when you blush, by the way.”

 “Dammit, I’m not…” Gwen said laughingly, “Do you want to _travel_ with me or not?”

“Yeah, alright,” Sera said with a wink.

“Thank you,” Gwen replied, stealing another apple slice, as the other tavern door swung open and Varric swaggered in.

The dwarf spotted her and Sera joined them, wrapping a thick arm around Gwen’s shoulders. “Gwen, I heard you were looking for me?”

“Oh, yeah? From who?”

“Cullen.”

Just hearing his name made her gut clench in anxiety.

“What’s that face for? Something bothering you still?”

“Really, Varric, when isn’t there something bothering me?”

“True. But, I can help with that. Flissa, my sweet, would you bring the Herald here a cup of your finest? Actually, make it two of your finest for my friends here, and a tankard of ale for me. Hey there, Buttercup.”

Sera waved. “Just saw you an hour ago, but whatever.”

Gwen laughed and looked at Varric. “Ale isn’t going to help.”

“Oh, something tells me you need something stronger than ale, Firecracker.”

“I don’t. And I really shouldn’t…”

“Indulge me, just this once?” Varric looked up at her with pleading eyes.

“Yeah, come on, Gwenniepoo! You can have just one, can’t you?” Sera did her best to emulate Varric’s puppy-eyed look.

It worked. When had that started to work on her?

 _Fuck_.

She scowled. “Oh, alright, but just one!”

Sera clapped her on the back, and the dwarf grinned from ear to ear and winked. “That’s all we ask.”

Moments later, Flissa appeared with everyone’s drinks, and Varric took a frothing tankard of ale larger than his head in one meaty fist, while Gwen and Sera were given smaller cups of something that smelled highly flammable. She wrinkled her nose at fumes that rose from it, stinging her nostrils. “What’s this?”

“Don’t ask. Just drink.” He shrugged, and taking his own advice and gulped at his ale.

Gwen eyed her cup warily.

Sera tipped hers back and slammed the empty cup back down on the table with a whoop. “Oh, go on! Drink already!”

Gwen took a deep breath as she lifted the cup to her lips and drank it down in one go. Her regret was instantaneous, and from the gorge rising threateningly in her throat, that regret would soon to become palpable. She slammed her empty cup down as well, gripping the edge of the table as she wrestled down her nausea. Her eyes watered (though she thought maybe it was blood) and when she finally exhaled, it felt like she was breathing fire.

“Holy fucking shit…” she croaked.

Sera guffawed, slapping the table with glee and Varric cackled. “I didn’t tell you to drink the whole thing at once, Firecracker, but the fact that you’re still upright is damned impressive.”

Gwen pressed the heel of her right hand to her forehead, eyes scrunched closed as she laughed, though the resulting sound was more like a dry cough. “Right. Still recovering from the phantom brick that just smashed into my face, so that upright bit might change.”

“Good?”

“Define good.” She muttered between gritted teeth.

“That was brilliant. Are you gonna have another? Go on, go on! Have another!”

“I can’t.”

“Pfft, you’re no fun,” Sera said, blowing a half-hearted raspberry in Gwen’s general direction.

“I have to go let Bull know he’s coming with us to Redcliffe, and yes, that includes you, Varric, if you want to.”

“Of course I’ll go, Gwen.”

“Good!” She stood and patted Varric and Sera’s heads. “We’ll be leaving before dawn, kids,” she said as she walked toward the door.

“Eugh! Is it too late to change my mind?” Sera shouted.

Gwen held a hand to her ear mouthed an apology as more patrons crowded in past her through the door. When Sera rolled her eyes, Gwen laughed and danced away, still chuckling to herself as she went to find Bull, pleasantly buzzed.

It was full dark out now, and Gwen went outside the walls in search of the Chargers, spotting Krem standing on a tree stump near a circle tents, and Gwen waved to him, grinning. “Hail, Messere Aclassi!”

Krem hopped off the stump and bowed smartly. “Just Krem, if you don’t mind, m’lady.”

“Alright, Krem, but only if you’ll call me Gwen.”

“So what can I do for you, m-- Gwen,” the merc said with a shy smile.

“Ah, well, is Bull around? Got a mission I need him for. Going to Redcliffe.”

“Redcliffe, eh? When are you due to leave?”

“Before dawn tomorrow, so probably the sooner I find him, the more rest he can get. Is he around?”

“Ah, errrr, well, I haven’t seen hi--”

A squealing giggle broke into their conversation, accompanied by a deep rumbling laugh from a nearby tent.

“Wha—”

 _SHMACK_! More squeals and a deep groan.

_Haha welp… #AWKWARD I AM NOT DRUNK ENOUGH FOR THIS!_

Krem looked at Gwen, red as a beet. “That is to say, the, er, Chief, he’s uh-occupied. But I’ll let him know about the mission as, uh, soon as, he’s, erm, available.”

Gwen bit her lip in an effort not to laugh, her face probably a dead match for Krem’s between alcohol and embarrassment. “Ah, mmm right, okay.” She cleared her throat, her lips twitching. “Thank you, Krem. Have a pleasant evening.”

“You too, Gwen.”

Gwen broke into a fit of giggles by the time she made the gates, and she stood hunched over, laughing until her sides hurt as passersby muttered about drunks and lunatics. When her amusement finally dried up, she dragged herself off to bed, aching from her laughter. As she lay in her bed trying to sleep, she became aware of the constant ache in her chest again. She was letting the whole “thing” with Cullen have too great an effect on her, and as she fell asleep she vowed to keep him at a distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questions? Comments? Headcanons? Leave them below or join me on tumblr! mmesnappysnips.tumblr.com
> 
> *holy maker i need coffee
> 
> Also! I just started an RP blog on tumblr for Gwen that will address content and banter that happens between chapters, among other things, so if you're interested in that at all, check out gwenharel.tumblr.com


	25. In Hushed Whispers Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen gets a rest day before the gang heads to Redcliffe. Also, Dorian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm almost getting regular with this update thing, huh? Anyway, as always, your comments, kudos, bookmarks, and subscriptions give me the best reason to keep writing, so thank you from the bottom of my heart.
> 
> *Note: My desktop has been on the fritz so I had to post this from my iPad, and so the formatting came out completely frigged. If there are any weirdly broken up paragraphs, etc., that's why. Enjoy!

As it turned out, Gwen's plans to leave the following morning were waylaid by forces beyond her control. When Varric came knocking to see what was keeping Gwen, he found her crouched over a bucket, groaning in misery.

"One strong drink and this is what happens? Gwen, I didn't think you'd be such a lightweight," Varric teased with a chuckle.

Gwen glared up at him, her knuckles white on the edge of the bucket and the grin on Varric’s face vanished like so much smoke to be replaced by a look of genuine concern.

"Holy shit. I'll get a healer," he said, and sped off.

Gwen awoke with a migraine so fierce that she barely had time to establish she was nauseous before she lurched across the room grasping for the empty bucket to which she still clung. She didn't know how long she'd been like that, but time never passed quickly when she was in this much pain. She feared moving to go digging through her pack for the medicine Adan had prepared for her, or she might've avoided being seen in her current state of weakness.

It wasn't long before Varric returned with one old, cantankerous elven mage. The same mage, in fact, that had spoken so cruelly to Gwen before she'd left for the Storm Coast.

"What on the Maker's green earth have you woken me for, dwarf?"

Gwen answered the question for Varric in a way that was unpleasant for all involved.

"I see," Avurion said, voice dripping with disgust.

"Anything you can do to help her?"

"Too much drink, I expect. I should be thankful that is the largest issue I've dealt with thus far into my service for the Inquisition."

"I don't think that's the problem."

"Are you a healer, Ser Dwarf? Are you trying to tell me how to do my job?"

"No, but the Herald is in pain and she should be taken care of."

"Ah, now I recognize her." Avurion made a noise of disapproval. "She should know better than to overindulge in drink, especially with her actions under the scrutiny of the Chantry and half of Thedas. Still, I will see what I can do."

"The Inquisition, nay, the world, will owe you a debt of gratitude, Ser Mage."

"I'd take sleep over gratitude and stuff the titles, dwarf. Avurion will do. Now then, Herald of An-drunkard, let's see what we can do for you, hmm?"

Cool fingertips were pressed to her temples and she whimpered as the pain intensified, slapping Avurion's hands away. Gwen filed Avurion's newest insults away for later, pain taking precedence over anger.

"Void take me, this is worse than I thought."

"I told you s--"

"Yes, yes, shut up. You were right to wake me, dwarf. Now clear off so I can work, and see we are not disturbed."

"Alright. I'll let everyone know the mission will have to wait, Gwen. You just take it easy."

"I know this will bring you more pain, but if you can stand it for just a moment, I can help you," Avurion said, his tone far gentler than before.

Gwen gave him the barest of nods to continue, and the healing began. Avurion hadn't been lying when he said it would hurt more and in her head she screamed and screamed as the pain was burned away. Then the pain was blessedly gone and she could've wept with the relief that flooded through her. She was utterly wrung out however, and she had neither the energy nor the inclination to cry, speak or move.

Avurion seemed aware of her current state and they remained on the floor for awhile, until the old elf complained about the smell of sick and his aching bones. So with Avurion's assistance, she was moved back to her bed, and the old mage sat on the edge, draping a cold cloth over her brow.

"I've never had the best of bedside manners, but I know when I should apologize for being an arse. Spirit healing has been my strength most of my life, and I'm bloody good at it, but tact and diplomacy are skills seldom bother with, as many who've met me over the years would attest. So, my lady Herald, I apologize for putting my foot quite squarely in my mouth."

Gwen laughed weakly. "You helped me. That's apology enough." His apology was sincere at least, and he didn't hesitate or make excuses, so it was easy to let go any enmity she might have felt before. "Besides, I appreciate honesty, and honesty not known for gentleness."

"Quite so. Might I ask how long have you suffered from your affliction?"

"Most of my life. Adan gave me some medicine to help, but it was that or the bucket, and it seems I choose pride over relief."

"I met a chevalier long ago who suffered from the same malady who was a bit like that. Always pushing past physical limitations and ignoring all signs to stop."

"What did you do?"

"I cast a sleep spell on her so I could heal her properly and she could rest. She'd been running about the Brecilian Forest, dazed with a festering wound when I found her. Fool woman."

"You sound like you were fond of her."

"I was. Against all odds, and despite my being Fereldan, a Dalish elf, and a Mage, we became great friends. Even so, we fought one another constantly." There was a wistfulness in his voice.

"Have you kept in touch with her?"

"I-no. She left this world long ago, and I hope that where she is that she is happy. And once I joined the Circle, communication would have been impossible."

"Oh. I am so sorry. My condolences on your loss."

"Don't be. It was inevitable, but we were happy for a time, and I will never regret that. She's why I abandoned my clan, in truth. We found shelter with the Chasind for three years perhaps? But eventually, fate caught up with us both."

"May I ask what happened to her?"

"I-she became ill, and there was nothing I could do. Odd, I haven't spoken of this to anyone in all these years, but I feel lighter for having done so."

Gwen smiled and patted his hand. "I'm a good listener."

"Aye, that you are. Rare for a Shem," he winked. "Now you need rest, so no traipsing off hither and yon today. And don't let too many people come pestering you either or all my hard work’ll be for naught. I'll check on you again later and give you something better for your malady than that eejit hack Adan," he said with a wry smile, then took his leave.

* * *

It wasn't long after that when Bull arrived, and from that point on took it upon himself to act as her personal bouncer. Many people tried to find an audience with Gwen throughout the day, and all but the "inner circle" and Avurion were turned away at the door by Bull with nary a peep. Josephine and Leliana visited awhile, and the former lamented over the loss of Gwen’s one and only gown. Rosalee stopped by as well, helping Gwen with a much needed bath. Cassandra stated that it was a sign that even Gwen needed to slow down and take a moment to breathe once every now and again when she visited. Varric and Blackwall sat and played a round of Wicked Grace with her, which she lost, unsurprisingly. Vivienne took tea with Gwen in the afternoon along with Mother Giselle. Gwen didn’t even have to feign sleep after she’d had her fill of Haven’s version of tiny sandwiches. Solas apparently visited while Gwen was napping and chose not to disturb her. Sera, on the other hand woke Gwen up and proceeded to nag her about not taking care of herself.

“Who’s supposed to save the world if you're dead, stupid?” Though Sera spoke without malice. Gwen had to tell her that her illness wasn’t going to kill her, it just rendered her incapable of normal activity. Sera just hugged her roughly and reiterated that Gwen just wasn’t allowed to die.

After Sera left, Avurion arrived with his promised remedy and something he said would help keep her stress down when used in moderation. The elf handed her his concoction, along with a pipe and a pouch. “Dried lacy elfroot that I personally crossbred with blood lotus. Potent stuff, so have a care when you use it. A pinch and a puff should do. And I wouldn’t recommend mixing that stuff with spirits. I can tell you from experience that it never ends well.”

Gwen grinned at him and bowed her head. “Thank you, Avurion.”

After Avurion departed, Gwen considered that maybe these people cared about her for more than just the mark on her hand, though an insidious thread of doubt yet remained.

By the time evening came around, Gwen was trying to assure Bull that he could stop guarding her door and go carouse or whatever he wanted. In the midst of their debate, there was a firm knock on the cabin door. Bull immediately went to see who it was, ready to turn them away, but he didn't send whoever it was packing.

"Hang on. I need to make sure she's decent first," Bull said.

Gwen couldn’t hear the speaker, but they asked a question to which Bull responded with, “Yeah, you know, wearing clothes and awake? Just take a minute.” And he shut the door on the visitor.

Curious, Gwen asked, "Who is it?"

"Commander Cullen."

"Oh."

The only person from the inner circle who had not come to see Gwen up to that point was Cullen. After all, the Commander didn't even like her, so why would he care unless she were truly on her deathbed? And of course why should whether the Commander liked her or not even matter? She told herself firmly that it didn’t, but deep down it very much mattered and that irked her.

Bull approached Gwen’s bed, then knelt beside it, searching her face. "Say the word and I'll tell him whatever he needs to hear to get him to go," he said quietly.

"What? Why?"

"I know what enthusiasm looks like, and you looked and sounded the opposite of than as soon as I told you who it was, and it sure as shit wouldn’t take any Ben-Hassrath training to see that."

Gwen was torn between wanting to hash out whatever problem Cullen had with her and ignoring the problem. She didn’t have the energy for the former that day though, and she knew it. "I'm just tired, Bull, that's all."

"Cute. Wanna tell me another one?"

Gwen frowned. "I just," she expelled a breath in frustration, her voice small as she felt as she said, "It's better if I just don't see him right now."

"That's all you had to say." Bull got off his knees with a low grunt, and mussed her hair. She glared harmlessly as Bull’s back as he lumbered over to the door, opening it just a crack. "Sorry, Commander. She's recovered, but the healer just left and now she’s asleep." Bull stepped outside, closing the door partly behind him.

Gwen listened closely for Cullen's response.

"Ah, I see. I... When she wakes, will you tell her that I'm pleased she is well, and that..." There was a pause, and the sound of Cullen clearing his throat. "Tell her..."

Gwen leaned forward in her bed, straining to hear the rest, but all she could pick up was Bull's reply. "You can tell her all that yourself when we get back from Redcliffe. Now come on and let me buy you a drink." And the door clicked shut.

Gwen curled up on her side and repeated to herself over and over that it was for the best, and that she had no reason to be disappointed with herself.

**Redcliffe Village, 5th Bloomingtide, 9:41**

Four days later, Gwen's party stepped through the gates of Redcliffe, all of them set of kilter, and somewhat nauseous thanks to the funky time-warped rift they’d just closed. She was doing her best to remain stoic, but once again, she wasn't prepared for the reality of waking through a mass of Fade twisted around time. Her sensitivity to all things Fade-related was growing by the day as well. So when they entered the town, she knew what Solas meant when he was say how the Veil felt different in certain places. It was like the air itself weighed less and there was a swirling ebb and flow to it. She should her head, trying to clear it before she got too caught up the feeling.

"I should know better by now to think shit can't possibly get weirder," Varric grumbled, and the rest of the party murmured in agreement.

An Inquisition scout approached with a warning on his lips. "We've been spreading word you were coming, but know that no one's been expecting us."

_NO ONE EXPECTS THE ANDRASTIAN INQUISITION!_

"What about Grand Enchanter Fiona?” Varric queried, a frown creasing his brow. “She's the one who invited the Herald here in the first place."

"If she did, no one here knew about it, serrah. Still, we managed to arrange for use of the Gull and Lantern for the negotiations."

The elven mage known as Lysas jogged up to them and bowed, huffing and puffing as he spoke, "You must be the agents sent by the Inquisition. Magister Alexius sends his apologies, as we were unaware of your visitation until today. He has not yet arrived, but if you would follow me to the tavern, he will join us as soon as he is able. You may, of course, speak with former Grand Enchanter Fiona while you wait."

"That will suit just fine," Gwen answered, trailing behind Lysas at a moderate distance while her companions gathered in close around her.

"Did he just say magister?" Sera whispered, a frantic edge to her words. "There shouldn't be bloody magisters here. I expected mages, but magisters!? Aren't they evil?"

"You could say that," Varric replied flatly.

A low growl of dissatisfaction rumbled from deep in Bull's chest. "Should've figured on this. Explains those 'Vints we attacked on the coast. Bet it's fucking 'Vints behind the Breach too.”

 _Well, he’s not technically wrong_ …

"I won't discount the possibility of Tevinter involvement here, but we'll get the to bottom of this, I promise."

"Frigging better," Sera muttered.

"Well, at this point, I doubt it could get any worse," Varric said with a shrug, and the party continued to follow Lysas through the town.

* * *

"I knew I shouldn't have said anything. Andraste's ass... I'm a damn novelist, but trust me when I say that I'm trying to think of a single worse thing you could've done, Fiona. And I've got nothing," Varric said.

"This right here is why you can't trust mages," Bull said with a low growl.

Gwen twisted around and craned her neck up to glare at the massive merc.

"Uh, no offense, boss.” Bull shrugged.

She continued to glare until a genuine look of worry crossed over Bull's face. "I'll make it up to you later somehow?" he muttered so only she could hear.

Gwen gave him a curt not and turned her attention back to the former Grand Enchanter. Fiona couldn't look Gwen in the eye while they waited for Alexius and the other mages in the room occasionally cleared their throats between long bouts of silence. Gwen could hear Sera fidgeting nervously behind her as the elf murmured, "Daft, they're all bloody daft. Sodding mages and templars. The whole lot. Frigging daft."

Then Gwen had an idea. “Fiona, I’d like to have a private word with you for a moment, if that’s possible?”

“Of course, Herald, but we should be quick.”

The two women sought refuge in the kitchen and spoke in whispers.

“Fiona, I’m going to get you out of this, but I need you to do something for me in return.”

“Do you truly think that you – that the Inquisition – can help us?”

“I know that we can, but I need you to do some things for me while we formulate a strategy.”

Fiona’s eyes narrowed. “What will be the cost of this help you are offering?”

“That you and the rebel mages will agree to ally with the Inquisition to seal the Breach and seek out whoever created it.”

“You would have us as allies?”

“Yes.”

“Will the Inquisition honor such a generous offer?”

“They will, considering our choices are slim, and I would rather have you as allies than not.”

“Alright, agreed. What must I do?”

Gwen shared her plan with Fiona, simple as it seemed, and the former Grand Enchanter was eager to go along with it. Things might work out more favorably for both the mages and Fiona if Gwen’s idea worked, and she prayed that it would.

Just after Fiona and Gwen stepped back into the common room, the door to the tavern swung open announcing Alexius' entrance. "Ah, my friends! Welcome! My apologies for keeping you waiting, but I am so glad you've come," the magister said with the utmost decorum.

"Members of the Inquisition, I present Magister Gereon Alexius," Fiona said, taking on the submissive stance expected of her.

Gwen acknowledged Alexius with a nod. "Greetings, Magister Alexius. I am Agent Harwood, here as a representative of the Inquisitions interests."

"Well met, Agent Harwood," Alexius said with a slippery smile, his eyes narrowing briefly as they lit on Gwen. "And you are the survivor, yes? The one from the Fade?"

"Well, truth be told, I'm actually from a village no bigger than gnat spit in the far west, but I'm also told I fell out of the Fade. At first I thought it was just a really terrible pick-up line until they threw me in chains. That's usually when the fun really starts. Worst date ever," Gwen said, chewing on a fingernail.

Alexius ignored Gwen's sarcasm and the accompanying snickers from around the room and powered on. "Yet here you are, freed of your bonds and raised up as a voice of the Maker's Bride by the very hands of those who wanted you executed for the death of the White Divine."

Gwen shrugged with a grin. "Yeah, life's strange that way,” and she looked Alexius dead in the eye as she continued, “but I'm sure there are still scads of people out there who wish I never existed."

"No doubt that is true,” Alexius said with thinly veiled disdain.

The silence was thick with the tension between Gwen and Alexius.

"Now please, let us sit and discuss what you came here for. I assume you wish to use the southern mages, now under my control, to seal the Breach?"

Gwen followed the Alexius to a nearby table, and sat across from him. "I had hoped for the mages to partner with the Inquisition for such an endeavor, yes. But first, I have questions as to the nature of your…arrangement with the mages.”

"Ah, of course. What would you like to know?"

"First, when did you make this arrangement with Fiona?"

"I arrived here just after the tragedy at the Conclave. Had I not done so, I fear the templars who had come to annihilate these mages in retribution would have done so."

"I see. And precisely how is it at all legally binding to indenture a free person while in a country that does not condone nor support slavery? Or how this could possibly apply to young children as well?"

Alexius’ eyes flared, but his voice remained steady. "If you would care to see the documentation, I would be more than happy to let you."

"I would."

"Felix, would you call for the scribe and have the contracts brought as well, please? Ah, but pardon my manners. My son Felix, friends."

Felix bowed low, and left the room. Gwen's heart swelled with pity for him the younger Alexius. She even had pity for the father, but that all but evaporated with one murderous glance from the magister.

"That you have come seeking the aid of my mages comes of no surprise, if what I've heard of the Inquisition is in earnest. To even attempt to contain the Breach would be no easy feat. How many mages would even be required for such an endeavor, I wonder? Your Inquisition is ambitious, to say the least."

"Yes, well, when dealing with a gigantic arsehole torn in the sky, one cannot afford to think small."

"Indeed not," Alexius said darkly. "Now then, we should--"

Felix had returned, walking slowly, his face gone stunningly pale as he staggered toward Gwen. He stumbled as he approached the table, and Gwen shot to her feet to catch him just in time and she was shocked at how little he seemed to weigh. He grasped her hands, and she felt him press a piece of parchment into her palm, and the look in his eyes broke her heart. "My lady, I am so sorry. Please forgive my clumsiness."

Alexius couldn't rush to his son's side fast enough. "Felix! My boy, are you alright?"

Gwen helped Felix upright as he tried to allay his father’s distress. "I'm fine, Father. Truly."

"No, no. This won't do. Come. I'll get your powders," Alexius said, placing Felix's right arm around the back of his neck as he helped the young man walk to the door. "Please excuse me, friends. We will continue this at another time. Come, Fiona. I will need your help back at the castle."

Felix turned back and said, "I am so sorry. I didn't mean to trouble everyone."

"I shall send word to the Inquisition so that we may conclude our business at a later date."

As Fiona followed them Tevinters out of the tavern, she cast a furtive glance at Gwen giving her a subtle nod, and then she too was gone with some of the other mages following behind.

Patrons began filtering into the tavern almost as soon as Alexis and his entourage left, the atmosphere returning to that of a typical tavern in mere moments.

Gwen's heart broke for Felix, and she wondered if there was anything she could do to help him, but there were other issues that needed to be dealt with first. Namely, Dorian's note. She unfolded it and read the bold, elegantly written script aloud, "Come to the Chantry tonight. You are in great danger."

"Ooh, how mysterious," Varric said, waggling his brows. "Think it's a trap?"

"You were all witness to that performance. Were you watching the magister speak?"

Sera shrugged and said, "Well, yeah, but..."

"Trap," Bull and Varric spoke in perfect unison.

Gwen looked at her companions. "We need to investigate this, regardless. We're not going into this completely in the dark. In the meantime, we need to get a message to Haven about all this."

* * *

The rest of the afternoon was spent gathering intel by speaking with the locals and the rebel mages present about the situation, though more for the sake of Gwen's companions than her own for obvious reasons. They found a few more willing recruits for the Inquisition, the most notable being Clemence and Sister Tanner.

At nightfall, they made their way to the Redcliffe's chantry and a few yards before they reached the door, Gwen’s mark flared painfully. “We need to get in there now,” Gwen gritted.

They rushed the doors, barring them shut once they were inside, the interior lit by the sickly green glow of the Fade.

"Shit! Who opened a rift in the--"

Bull snarled, "A 'Vint."

"What? Another one?!" Sera said.

A shade squealed in agony as a massive ball of flame melted it into goo, and Dorian stepped into the light as he brought his staff blade and cut cleaning through another, and it deflated like a balloon. The mage seemed to notice he had company then, what with the four of them staring at him dumbly from across the room. "Ah! Good! You're finally here! Give me a hand closing this rift, would you?"

 _DORIANNNNNNN_!

Gwen had to grip the handles of the chantry doors to keep herself from running forward and hugging the stuffing out of him. Then her left hand throbbed, reminding her that she had a responsibility, and that now was definitely not the time to squee over her favorite Tevinter.

 _What about Fenris? Or Maevaris? SHUT UP BRAIN_!

Gwen smirked and strode forward with her marked hand held out. "Luckily for you, I have just the hand you need." She’d been hanging onto that line for days, and was dead pleased she didn’t stutter.

Dorian's chuckle and any witty rejoinder he had was drowned out by the second wave of demons that shot out of the rift.

Gwen ran for cover and yelled, "Keep them off me!" She found a spot close enough to the rift that she could easily use her mark without gaining the attention of any unoccupied demons and got to work. What she hadn’t noticed right away about her perfect hiding spot was how everyone and everything around her was moving far faster than normal. But her mark was already working and moving now would set her progress with the rift back so she stayed put and fucking prayed. The rift pulsed as she pulled it halfway shut, and what demons remained her companions sent to the Void.

Gwen moved sluggishly out of the slowed pocket of magic or whatever the hell it was, and the return to normal time was a little disorienting.

"You good, boss?" Bull shouted from across the room as the rift quivered and shook in the air in those frozen moments before the next wave of demons would spew forth.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" She grinned.

“Oh, you’re a cheeky one,” Dorian said, eyes twinkling.

Bull didn't have time to react as the final wave of demons sprang from the ground. Too many damned wisps, and then there were Terrors on top of that; the big ones. Gwen tried to keep her an eye on her footing as she looked for a safe place to weaken the rift from, and she found a speed pocket near one an upended pew. There was a piercing shriek and a shiver went down Gwen’s spine as one of the huge Terrors looked straight at her.

“Shit!” Gwen swore as the Terror started to sink through the floor. She dropped her link with the rift before the Terror could disappear, and didn’t bother reaching for her staff. She flung as strong an ice spell as she could muster at the demon, and it froze, stuck half-way in the ground. “Focus fire on that Terror!” she shouted, casting a wide barrier over her friends. She reopened her link with the rift and tugged it closed as Bull burst through the terror at a charge, busting the demon to pieces in slow-motion.

Dorian and Varric worked together to take down the second Terror, and Gwen and Sera cleaned up what was left of the wisps. And as the last demon’s dying wail echoed through the chamber, Gwen pulled it closed, rubbing her aching hand as everyone came together in the center of the room.

“Well, that was bracing,” Dorian said, flicking a bit of demon off his sleeve, then he looked at Gwen, his head tilting as he studied her and her hand, curiosity shining in his eyes. "That is fascinating, by the way. How does it work, exactly? You aren't quite sure, are you? You just wriggle your delicate fingers and boom! Rift closes. May I take a peek at it?"

"Touch her and lose a hand, 'Vint."

"It's alright, Bull. Let's just find out who the gentleman is before we dismember him."

"Ah, thanks for that. Manners are few and far between in Ferelden, at least in my experience. Though I've a tendency to get ahead of myself, so my apologies for that. Now then, Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous. How do you do?" Dorian bowed with a graceful flourish, taking Gwen's unmarked hand and lifting it to his lips, looking at Bull as he did so, as if daring the warrior to react.

"Watch yourself. The hand-kissing pretty ones are the worst," Bull said with a grunt.

"Observation noted, Bull." She bit her lip seeing the smug smirk on Dorian’s face.

"My, such possessive and suspicious friends you have."

"Not entirely without reason, and I'm sure you have an inkling as to why. So, Dorian of House Pavus, now might be the time to explain why we are here."

"Haha, funny you should mention time, so let’s begin, shall we? For starters, Magister Alexius was formerly my mentor, so my assistance should be valuable-- as I'm sure you can imagine."

"So you're the one who sent the note," Varric said, stroking his chin.

"Indeed I am, after all, someone needed to warn you. The danger you've put yourself in by even being in Redcliffe should be obvious to you, even without my warning.”

“And what of time?” Gwen asked.

“Ah, yes, I was getting to that. You may be wondering how Magister Alexius somehow managed to claim the allegiance of the rebel mages out from under you? As if by magic, yes? Which is exactly right. You see, Alexius distorted time itself in order to reach Redcliffe before the Inquisition."

"So Alexius used magic to get here the day the Divine died, or thereabouts?"

"You catch on quickly, my dwarven friend."

Sera made a disgruntled noise. "You don't believe this shite, do you, Harold? It's completely daft! And he’s another magister! You can't believe anything he says, can you?"

"Alright,” Dorian began with a long-suffering sigh. “Let me explain this just once: I am a mage from Tevinter, but I am not a member of the Magisterium. I know you southerners use the terms mage and magister interchangeably, but that just makes you look like barbarians."

"Back to the time-magic issue," Gwen said, her lips twitching.

"Is that even possible?" Varric asked.

"You surely noticed how the rift here was twisting time around itself, yes?”

“So you expect us to buy this time-magic crap?” Bull said, his thick arms folded across his broad chest.

Dorian looked at Bull sharply. “I know what I'm talking about. I helped develop this magic. Though back when I was Alexius' apprentice, it was all still purely theoretical. Alexius was never able to get it to work, you see. At least until now. What I truly can't understand is why he's doing it at all. Ripping time to shreds just to gain a few hundred lackeys?"

"He didn't do it for them, Dorian."

"Felix! Took you long enough. Is your father getting suspicious?"

Felix snorted as he drifted toward them. "No, but I shouldn't have played the illness card. I thought he’d never stop hovering.” Then he turned to Gwen, his young face all too serious. “Now that I'm here, I can tell you what's really going on. My father joined a cult of Tevinter supremacists bent on bringing back the 'glory of Tevinter', whatever that is. They call themselves the 'Venatori.' And I can tell you this: whatever my father has done for them, he's done it to get to you, my lady."

"Oh, I'm touched. All this effort for little old me and I didn't get Alexius anything." Gwen couldn't resist saying it.

"Send him fruit basket. Everyone loves those," Dorian quipped.

_YASSSS! *happy dance*_

"But in all seriousness, lady Herald, you know now that _you_ are Alexius' target. Fortunately, the first step in avoiding a trap is being aware of its existence, yes? I've faith you can use that to your advantage. Tragically, I can't stay here in Redcliffe. Alexius isn't aware that I'm here, and I'd like to keep it that way for the time being. But when you're ready to deal with him, Herald, I want to be there. Have no fear, I will keep in touch." He turned to leave out the back entrance. "Oh, and Felix? Try not to get yourself killed, hm?"

Felix shook his head and smiled sadly. "There are worse things than dying, Dorian."

* * *

Gwen and her companions returned to the Crossroads immediately after, and Gwen fired off a second missive to Haven when they arrived at the forward camp. While the others slept their tents, Gwen found herself unable to do the same, thinking on what would happen when they inevitably raided Redcliffe Castle. What more would change? The possibilities shook her to her core.

Just before dawn a reply from Haven arrived, placed directly in Gwen's hands by a drowsy looking scout. "Thank you," she said to the woman. "Go get some rest if you've yet to do so."

"Aye, my lady. My thanks," the soldier replied gratefully, giving Gwen a salute before she likely toddled off to sleep awhile.  
Gwen slipped back into her tent and lit the lamp on the desk, then opened the missive with her belt knife. She read over it twice, and she was confused by what she read:

_Herald,  
_

_Remain in the Hinterlands. Take no action against the magister until further notice. Continue assisting local population in the meantime, and stay on your guard.  
_

_Maker watch over you,  
_

_Nightingale_

She crumpled the note and tossed it into the heated brazier near her cot, watching as the parchment was slowly consumed by the flames. So they wanted her to play a waiting game, but why? Whatever the reason, Gwen was sure she wouldn't like it. At least she wasn't expected to remain idle. Still, whatever Leliana and the rest had planned, she hoped it didn't involve a fucking invasion.

* * *

The party accomplished a good bit over the next three days. Three more rifts were closed, and they spent one of those days around Master Dennet's farm. Most of that day was swallowed up escorting that idiot bloody druffalo back to its pen. Afterward, there was a small celebration given by the local farmers and Master Dennet. They danced and drank, and Gwen foolishly accepted Sienna's horseback riding challenge while sauced on some sort of old liqueur. Though what may have seemed like a poor decision at first proved to be rousing entertainment for all when Gwen actually managed to win all three rounds. Had she been sober, she probably would’ve been thrown and broken her neck, and she swore Bull, Varric, and Sera to silence.

On the fourth day, their answer from Haven finally arrived, and it was definitely not what Gwen had expected. A contingent of Inquisition soldiers arrived and two of them stepped out of formation to approach Gwen's open tent. They stood and saluted while Gwen scribbled in her journal about being hungover.

“My lady Herald, we bring news from Haven,” a very familiar voice with an Orlesian lilt said.

Gwen looked up and saw Leliana wearing the Inquisition issue scout’s uniform, and Cullen wearing that of an Inquisition soldier. She blinked and wondered if she’d smoked some of that stuff Avurion had given her before she slept the night before. But after she rubbed her eyes, they were both still standing there, with Cullen looking more annoyed by the second.

"Hello, and erm, at ease. Come in?" Gwen smiled nervously, peering outside to make sure that no one was giving her tent any undue attention, then she closed the flaps. She calmly turned to them both. “Take a seat.” And they sat on her cot, while she sat at her tiny desk. “Now would either of you care to tell me what you're doing here?"

"The situation you wrote to us about seemed too delicate to handle by bird and after we received a message from the magister, the Commander here thought it better to come to you directly. Something must be done about this magister and his plans."

"And the, erm, disguises?"

"Leliana's idea,” Cullen grumbled, “and it made sense at the time."

"If the magister thought he had a chance of getting his hands on both the Commander and the Seneschal of the Inquisition, as well as you, Herald, they might attempt to attack Haven, thinking it undefended."

"Good point. In that case, we shouldn't tarry. We need to move on this as soon as possible."

"How can we?” Cullen asked. “We don't have the manpower to take the castle. The only reason I'm here is to try to convince you to abandon this idea and make one last attempt to seek the aid of the Templars."

Leliana shook her head. "And leave children in the hands of a Tevinter magister who would see them fight in Tevinter's army? No, Commander, I think not."

Cullen was taken aback at the mention of children, but he kept on. "Then what? We assault the castle with what few soldiers we have and hope for the best? Redcliffe Castle has a long history in Ferelden and has repelled thousands of assaults. You said it yourself after we all read Alexius' letter. It's clear this is a trap and he wants you dead, Herald. If you go in there, we'll lost the only means we have of closing this rifts, and I simply will not allow it."

"I also told you, Commander, that if we do not make some kind of attempt to salvage this situation, we will have lost the mages while leaving a hostile foreign power on our doorstep. Josie said that we could not attack the castle directly either way, because our forces are on contested land, and the Inquisition is considered Orlesian by Fereldan standards."

"Then the magister has outplayed us. So what solution are we left with? We must seek out the Templars."

"Cullen, you saw the same reports I did. Began mobilizing for war the day the Herald left Redcliffe, and by the time we sought out the Templars, it would be beyond too late. As it is, if we do not succeed, King Alistair's forces will arrive within a day or two at most."

Gwen sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose and answered in the sullen silence. "Leliana, you were here with the Hero of Ferelden during the Blight yes? Do you know of any other way into the castle wherein we could lead a smaller number of scouts and take the castle by stealth?"

Leliana's eyes brightened. "Yes! There is a secret passage into the castle that was built as an escape route for the family. I could easily sneak in with some of my agents."

"It's too risky. You and you're agents would be discovered well before they could even reach the magister to attack."

"Which is why we need a distraction. So we give Magister Alexius the envoy that he wants."

Gwen waved. "Hullo. My middle name is Distraction," she said dryly.

Cullen scowled at her, but it seemed that he'd finally lost whatever internal argument he was having with himself. "So the Magister is focused on the Herald just long enough for your agents to slip through and take out the Tevinters. Still risky, but even I have to admit that it may succeed."

There was a ruckus outside the tent and a moment later, Dorian poked his head through the flaps of Gwen’s tent. "Ah, hello! Am I late?"

Gwen laughed. "Come in."

"Hmm, quite spacious as far as camping goes. I've been camping out in the Hinterlands for the last three weeks and I wish my tent was this nice."

"This isn't the typical tent I use, if and when I do."

"Herald, who is this person?" Cullen's scowl returned in force.

"Commander, Sister Leliana, meet Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous. He is here to assist us. I did send you a message about our encounter in the chantry."

"And it is a pleasure to see you again, Lady Herald."

After Dorian was caught up on the plan, he had his own thoughts to add. "Well the only way your spies are getting past Alexius' magic is with my help, so I'll be coming along.”

Leliana nodded. “Your help will be welcome, Dorian.”

There was a featherlight touch on Gwen’s knee a moment later, and she looked down to see the person responsible was Cullen, and he looked at her beseechingly. “Herald, this plan puts you in the most danger, and I-that is we- cannot order you to do this in good conscience.”

Gwen swallowed hard and Cullen pulled his hand away, but her skin still burned underneath the leather of her breeches. She took a fortifying breath, then looked at Leliana. "Mobilize your agents and bring Sera as well. We move to take back Redcliffe as soon as possible."

"It shall be done, Herald. I will also send word to the magister that you’ve accepted and your arrival this evening is imminent.”

"Good. Maker be with us all, and Dorian? Thank you."

"Don't thank me until we've seen this through, dear lady."

Then it was just Gwen and Cullen. In her tent. Alone.

"Maker's breath, I hope you know what you're doing,” Cullen said.

She tried not to roll her eyes. “I'm doing what needs to be done, Commander. That is what I know.”

“Allow me to be part of your escort into the castle then.”

She replied without hesitation, “No.”

He looked crestfallen. “Why?”

“Best that someone of authority remains to bring King Alistair up to speed when he and his troops arrive. Who better than the Inquisition’s Commander? Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to send a reply to the magister about meeting.” And rather than wait for a reply, Gwen fled her own tent like a coward, preferring to risk her neck over having to see that look on Cullen’s face again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For additional Nightmare Mode content and not just dragon age art or random comments from me, you can now follow a new RP account for Gwen I created on tumblr: [gwenharel.tumblr.com](http://gwenharel.tumblr.com)
> 
> And as always, you're welcome to follow my dragon age blog: [mmesnappysnips.tumblr.com](http://mmesnappysnips.tumblr.com)  
> 
> 
> Or my everything else blog: [evillyte.tumblr.com](http://evillyte.tumblr.com)
> 
> Stop on by and say hello!


	26. In Hushed Whispers Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for Gwen and Co. to meet up with Alexius and watch and shit hits the fan in ways that not even Gwen sees coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW! UPDATE! My eyeballs are bleary and this chapter is currently f*cking huge. That said, there's more to come and I'm just too tired to finish revising and posting it today. So I'm giving you what I've got and I hope its enough. Thank you for reading and sticking with me!
> 
> *Not Beta'd, as per usual. <333

**9 th Bloomingtide, 9:41 – Inquisition Forward Camp, Hinterlands, Ferelden**

“Ah, there you are!”

Gwen's heart leapt into her throat as she emerged from her tent, and nearly fell back in out of surprise as she was confronted by the man she’d been pointedly avoiding all day.

Commander Cullen’s quick reflexes kept her from making a complete arse of herself.  He still wore his Inquisition-issue armor “disguise”, though he’d foregone the helm and chainmail coif. She could feel the heat of his grasp through layers of leather and wool, and he stood close enough for her to catch a whiff of lyrium, leather, and clean sweat. She swallowed hard as the man continued to talk. “I’ve been searching for hours to speak to you. I checked your tent more than once.”

A faint blush tinted Cullen’s cheeks at that, and Gwen had to smother an evil grin. She hadn’t been entirely sure of Sera’s suggestion to leave her underthings clearly visible on her cot, but now she was glad she did. Based on Cullen’s reaction, Gwen knew he’d peeked inside. She wondered how many prayers he’d offered up to the Maker afterward to try and remove the image of her smalls from his brain.

Cullen looked at her expectantly. Gwen supposed she should stop behaving like a child and try speaking to him. “Odd. No one mentioned you were looking for me. I was a bit busy with… things. I’m here now, so what did you wish to speak about? I thought you and your men would have gone by now.” In point of fact, she’d been counting on it before she’d walked out of her tent. She’d have to plan better next time.

Cullen looked unsure for a moment. “I, er, yes. About that,” he said, his right hand reaching for the back of his neck before he seemed to catch himself, making a fist as he lowered it. “Plans have changed.”

Gwen’s head quirked to one side, wondering if she’d misheard as she looked up at the Commander wearing the kind of smile she used to save for really _special_ customers when she’d worked in retail. “Plans… changed?”

“There was a discussion,” Cullen began, clearing his throat, feet shuffling in place.

Gwen’s expression remained fixed, though her pitch rose fractionally. “A discussion?”

“Yes, there was a discussion and it was decided that Varric would accompany my men, and I would take his place at your side,” Cullen stated, trying to maintain eye contact.

 _Disney’s Hades™.gif_ **_WHAT_** _?!?!_

At this point, Gwen’s lips stretched out thin, her smile becoming more a show of teeth as her mind whirled furiously.

How dare he go behind her back and change her plans! He wasn’t even supposed to be in the bloody Hinterlands! His presence in Redcliffe might ruin everything! She didn’t even want to consider what might happen to him in the terrifying future she had been mentally preparing to endure.

She wanted to drag Cullen off his high horse and slap the smirk off his face. Repeatedly. She wanted to scream at him to march his tight arse back to Haven like a good little templar. Mostly though, she really just wanted to scream.

_Stupid, stubborn, insubordinate ASS!_

 “I beg your pardon?” Gwen asked quietly, responding with a level calm that belied the violence of her thoughts.

Cullen stood taller, holding his hands behind his back as he replied with militaristic efficiency. “Varric is already on a first name basis with the king of Ferelden, and it is hardly as secret that I am no diplomat. Varric’s suggestion to exchange positions was logically sound, and The Iron Bull agreed stating that having a templar, even a former templar, along to protect you was a wise decision.”

Gwen fumed inwardly. “And no one thought to inform or ask me how I might feel about my plans being changed?”

“I did _try_ , but I couldn’t find you until now.”

Gwen’s anger deflated minimally, and she acknowledged to herself that her own childish attitude was at least partly responsible for this outcome. Varric’s mercenary curiosity was likely a culprit as well, and Gwen suspected that the dwarf probably extracted a promise for an exchange of information from Cullen before giving the Commander what he wanted; and Cullen wanted to protect Gwen, for whatever reason. Bull was just doing his job, but still, the thought that he’d just gone along with the idea – that all of them had – cut her deep. She felt sick, and a little betrayed.

“Hey, boss! You ready t—” Bull began as he joined the conversation, but whatever look Gwen shot the qunari made him rethink whatever he’d been about to say. “Huh. I’ll just wait over there while you and the Commander finish your chat.”

“Thank you, Bull. The Herald and I shan’t be long,” Cullen replied evenly.

Bull didn’t leave until Gwen gave him a curt nod, which was a minor comfort. She turned back to the Commander, her eyes burning with the unshed tears of frustration.

_I will not cry, goddammit! I will NOT CRY!_

She swallowed the bitter pill, slowly exhaling before she asked, “Is there anything else you need to speak with me about, Commander?”

“Yes, but I think that discussion can wait until after the situation with magister has been dealt with.”

Her jaw worked for a moment. “So be it,” she said. “Let’s finish this business with Alexius then.”

“Thank you,” Cullen said, his features smoothing out as he looked at her with sincere gratitude.

Gwen’s throat constricted. “Don’t thank me,” she answered weakly, ignoring the look of hurt in his eyes as she turned her back on him and started walking down to the road, leaving Cullen in her proverbial dust.

Bull fell in beside Gwen as she passed, though she refused to look at him. “Gonna rain soon,” he mentioned casually.

Gwen offered a token grunt in response. Aside from the anxious knot residing in her gut, she had noticed the deep, familiar ache that came with inevitable changes in weather. Bull was right; it was going to rain soon.

“Guess you feel that too,” she said eventually.

“Scarred old merc like me? Don’t doubt it.” Gwen could hear the smile in his voice.

She shook her head at the qunari. “You’re not old,” she declared. “And I like the scars.”

“Oh, do you?”

_Damn it…_

Gwen didn’t need to see Bull’s face to know he was preening just a little. He’d managed to defuse her anger and embarrass herself in less than a minute.

_Fucking Ben Hassrath…_

“I mean, I don’t like that you got hurt, but I just, uh… They enhance your good qualities. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Anytime you want to stay up and compare, just say the word,” Bull said with a grin.

Gwen hadn’t realized they’d slowed their pace until Cullen went past them. “I’ll scout ahead,” the Commander said brusquely over one shoulder.

Gwen mentally flipped him off and thought he could scout himself into a ditch, and that would be just fine with her.

\-----

A sea of eyes, both curious and fearful, tracked Gwen’s party as they made their way through Redcliffe Castle. There were enough mages present to make Cullen get twitchy, and Gwen just hoped that none of them would know who or what Cullen was. Who knew what the rebels would do if they found out Gwen had a templar along for the “negotiations”, especially considering that they were greatly outnumbered.

The rebel mages appeared to be, for the most part, reluctant shadows of the Tevinter interlopers; though there were some among the rebels who looked on Gwen and her escort with resentment burning in their eyes. If those mages in particular didn’t happen to join the Inquisition, Gwen would not discourage them. If they did choose to join, however, maybe if they were treated as people instead rather than property or glorified prisoners, their attitudes may change for the better. Gwen hoped that would be the case, at any rate.

As Gwen took in her surroundings, it was impossible to ignore the massive structure had a sinister look and feel to it, inside and out. Did Redcliffe Castle give everyone the same, eerie, ominous feeling? Had the place always been that way, or was the strange aura a product of what had occurred in Redcliffe during the Blight?

When Gwen had a chance to speak briefly with (thankfully) still-living Connor Guerrin in the village a few days before, the poor boy’s every word had been riddled with self-reproach. She understood now what Connor meant when he spoke of how he could ‘still feel the blood on the stones.’ There was a great darkness in this place, and it felt _old_ to Gwen. That it was also dark and shadowy and riddled with grotesque stone statues and empty suits of plate armor gave it that final, creepy touch. Gwen doubted Redcliffe Castle was any more cheerful during daylight hours than it was at night, and silently wondered why the hell anyone ever want to live there in the first place.

Finally, Gwen’s party reached the doors to the throne room, and doors creaked in protest as they parted to reveal one Magister Gereon Alexius perched on the Arl’s seat, looking to all the world like he owned the place. ‘A Night on Bald Mountain’ started playing in Gwen’s head with the way the flames in the massive fireplace behind Alexius leaped and flickered, almost appearing to rise higher as the magister’s lackey approached, the servant’s carriage haughty.

“Mistress Harwood?” The toady sniffed as he looked down his considerable nose at Gwen.

Gwen looked at the man in askance. “No. I’m the Queen of Antiva,” she said dryly. When the man continued to look at her, or rather through her, with no reply, Gwen heaved an impatient sigh. “Yes, of course I’m Agent Harwood,” she amended with a roll of her eyes.

The man smiled thinly, then eyed Cullen and Bull with equal disdain. “The Magister’s invitation was for Mistress Harwood alone,” the lackey stated. Then directly to Gwen, he said, “Your guard and your –pet – must wait in the hall.”

Gwen’s nostrils flared and she looked at Bull, but his expression was implacable, and Cullen was openly scowling. She guessed Bull was used to crude jibes like that one, but she wasn’t about to let that kind of shit stand.

She narrowed her eyes at the toady, a humorless smile stretching her lips. “My _people_ stay, or _we_ walk,” she answers with an acid edge.

What ensued was a silent brawl of wills as Gwen and the toady stared one another down. She imagined a variety of ways she might torture an uppity little asshole like him involving papercuts, salt, and lemon juice; those thoughts, reinforced with her simmering anger toward Cullen, Varric, and Bull and the man’s resolve crumbled into dust.

The defeated toady glanced over his shoulder for approval from his master, Alexius granted it with a near-imperceptible nod. “As my lady wishes,” the lackey replied. “Walk this way.”

Gwen resisted the urge to mimic the toady’s walk as they mounted the steps of the dais. Gwen acknowledged Fiona’s presence with a brief nod when they reached the final step, and the Grand Enchanter adopted a submissive posture as she fell in behind them.

“My lord Magister,” the toady began. “I present th—”

“Yes, yes, Albrecht. I can see them quite clearly,” Alexius said giving Albrecht the Toad a dismissive wave. Albrecht bowed out of sight as Alexius turned to address Gwen. “Welcome, my friend. I am pleased to see you again, and in good health. Your companions as well, of course,” he said, his smile stiff and unwilling.

Gwen bowed deeply, rising with as sincere a smile as she could muster for Alexius. She would have preferred to skip the small talk and just call Alexius on his bullshit, but she had to let this play out. All she needed to do was keep Alexius talking long enough for Leliana and her people to reach the throne room, which would hopefully be very soon. “Lord Magister Alexius, I hope you are well and that your son’s health is improved since we last met.” Her smile turned genuine when she spied Felix who stood to one side of the throne. The young man offered a small smile and shallow bow in return, but Alexius didn’t seem to notice their exchange.

“Felix _is_ feeling better, or so he tells me. Though I think, like many children throughout the ages, that he willfully refrains from telling me the whole truth; no doubt to spare me some worry.”

“I’m right here father. I can answer for myself,” was Felix’s exasperated reply.

“So you are, and so you can. I apologize, Felix. But I digress,” Alexius’ attention returned to Gwen. “We are here to negotiate, yes? I am sure we two can reach an agreement that is reasonable to all involved.”

“What of us? Are we mages to have no say in these negotiations?” Fiona protested feebly.

“Fiona, you signed a document voluntarily giving up any such rights. And lest you forget, my dear, you would not have made me custodian of your followers if you did not trust me with their care.”

Gwen snorted softly at the irony, but refrained from comment.

Alexius lifted a brow. “Is something amiss, Agent Harwood?” The magister apparently had hearing like a bat.

“Yes. It’s like I have this pebble in my left boot. Honestly, I don’t know how they get in there, but they do, you know? Sadly, one doesn’t always have the time to stop and empty their footwear of irritants.”

 _Well, he did ask_ …

Alexius gave her a blank look. Someone in the room gave a muffled cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

“You’ve a stone in your shoe?” Alexius said, bemused.

“Yeah. Been there a bit now. I even gave it a name. But I think ‘Magi-stone Alexius’ has worn out its welcome.”

 _We can still salvage this situation_ …

Alexius’ expression darkened. “Be as sarcastic as you wish, my dear, but that will not help you attain the services of the mages you desire to close the Breach. You have one final chance before my patience with you is at an end. What will you give me in return for the use of _my_ mages?”

“No, that’s boring. Let’s talk about time magic. Far more interesting, yes?” Gwen replied, mimicking Alexius’ condescending tone.

_You know, this is why we can’t have nice things!_

“Time magic?” Alexius scoffed. “Preposterous. There is no such thing.”

“Father, stop. She knows. I’ve told her everything.”

The magister rose slowly from his seat, a slight tremor in his voice. “Felix? What have you done?”

“Your son is just trying to save you from doing something incredibly stupid,” Gwen replied.

Alexius looked at her with sharp eyes. “So says the abominable little thief who walks in to _my_ stronghold with a stolen mark on her hand!? A gift you do not deserve and that your inferior mind would never be able to comprehend? You have no power here, and you will never turn my son from me. You are a nothing but a mistake.”

Gwen shrugged. “Yeah, I’ve heard that one before. Mum was never too keen on me, I’ll admit.”

“Your mother must have been a wise woman, very unlike her fool of a daughter.”

Cullen stepped in front of Gwen. “You dare…” he began, but Gwen wasn’t having it as she elbowed him aside. It was bad enough he was here, but she didn’t need him to fight her battles for her.

Gwen was about to give him a choice glare for it too, then she heard a soft, wet gurgle, followed by quiet thud from the shadows nearby. Cullen must have heard it as well, and their eyes met, reaching an unspoken truce. Cullen adopted a more submissive stance and muttered an apology as he stepped back, though he remained close, as did Bull.

“The loyalty of your servants is very touching, _Herald_.”

Gwen covered her mouth, yawning loudly. “Let’s cut the crap, Alexius. Why are you really here? What possessed you to drag your pampered arse down to Ferelden?”

Bull and Cullen both snickered blatantly. Gwen smiled, pleased with herself.

Alexius bared his teeth in a sneer. “My mission is two-fold: The first part was to acquire the southern mages on behalf of my lord, which I have done. The second is to retrieve the mark you bear which belongs to your betters. Once I have accomplished this task, Tevinter shall be returned to her former glory for all to see.”

“Father, do you have any idea what you sound like?”

Dorian’s voice rang bright and clear through the chamber as he climbed the steps of the dais. “I’d say he sounds like one of those clichéd villainous speeches from a Tethras novel. Quite embarrassing, really.” He nudged Gwen’s left arm as he took a place at her side.

_Ah, Dorian, this is one of many reasons you will always be loved. I mean, where is the lie?_

Gwen smiled in delight at Dorian, instantly more at ease.

 “Dorian,” Alexius said, taken aback by the appearance of his former protégé.

“Gereon! How generous of you to remember little me.”

“You should be here by my side; not that _pretender’s_ ,” Alexius said bitterly.

“Oh, I don’t know. She has rather a lovely side. And a handsome front as well, if I’m to be honest.” Dorian gave her what might seem like lecherous stare to anyone who didn’t know better.

Gwen rolled her eyes, but she still blushed and smiled wider at Dorian’s outrageousness. Someone bumped into her then, and she glanced back to see Cullen glaring daggers in Dorian’s direction. The smile fell from Gwen’s face when Cullen’s eyes landed back on her. She suppressed the instinct run, suddenly feeling like a prey animal under the heat of Cullen’s gaze. In order to quell her internal squirming, she turned her attention back to the ongoing conversation between Alexius and Dorian.

“I was… disappointed when you refused me, Dorian. If you could only see the power the Elder One wields, I know you would reconsider. It is not too late for you, my boy.”

Dorian stiffened. “So is he is the one behind the Breach? This ‘Elder One’?”

“Yes, Dorian! The Elder One will make Tevinter great again and rise to take His place as the god this world needs. Mages the world over will once again be revered by the mundane. We shall rule the entirety of Thedas, as is our right, thanks to Him.”

Dorian shook his head, eyes full of pity for his former mentor. “Alexius, have you lost all sense? How could you possibly support this… Elder One? And using time magic?! The Gereon Alexius _I_ knew would _never_ have become involved in such madness.”

“Father, you need to stop this! Please! Whatever it is that you were promised wasn’t worth all this. Give up the southern mages and let’s just go home,” Felix pleaded.

Alexius looked as if he were attempting to swallow broken glass. “No, Felix. The Elder One is the only one who can save you.”

“Save me?! What?!”

“There is a way. He promised me. He said if I can undo the mistake at the temple, then,” Alexius said, a desperate sadness creeping into his voice.

Felix shook with the force of his anger. “Then what? I am going to die, Father. You _need_ to accept that.”

“No,” the magister replied, his face like stone. Then Alexius’ lip twitched as he snarled, “Venatori! Seize them! The Elder One demands this woman’s life.”

A sound Gwen assumed to be the last Venatori dying had reached her ears, and Alexius’ as well, by the way his eyes widened in shock.

“Sorry! ‘Nother squishy one!” Sera said in a sing-song voice.

Gwen tamped down her rising panic. There were too many extra variables and she couldn’t help but think this was all going to end very, _very_ badly. “You can still surrender, Alexius. You can redeem yourself and fix your mistake,” she said quickly.

“You seem to forget, Herald, that you are the mistake I am meant to fix.” Alexius sneered.

“You don’t have to do this,” Gwen said.

Alexius’ glare remained fixed on Gwen. “You should not be here,” he said with quiet menace.

“I know,” Gwen breathed.

“And now you will never have existed,” Alexius added with a grim smile, his hands glowing as he tore the amulet from his neck. The air stilled and Gwen could feel the power emanating from Alexius’ amulet as it rose in the air.

_This is going to hurt._

Dorian gasped beside her as the amulet sparked, reaching its peak. “NO!”

“Bull!” Cullen snapped

“What th—”

Gwen choked on her words, swept up in a crushing embrace from behind that knocked Dorian aside. The room spun as Bull shielded her with his entire body. There was pained groan from Alexius direction, and the amulet made a tinny, plinking sound as it rolled down a few steps, and the sensation of building magic had entirely vanished.

“It’s over. You and your master _cannot and will not have her._ ” Cullen practically growled.

Gwen tried wriggling out of The Iron Bull’s Iron Grip™ to no avail. “Bull, dammit, lemme go! What the fuck just happened?” Gwen whispered frantically.

“You don’t know what you’ve done. The Elder One will raze you and your Inquisition to the ground. Then He will burn this world,” Alexius wheezed.

“Cullen did his job,” Bull replied quietly to Gwen, and released her.

_Cullen did what?_

“He can try,” Cullen answered Alexius, his blade poised against the magister’s throat.

“Kill me then and be done with it, boy,” Alexius said, defeated.

Gwen made a noise of distress and cried out, “Don’t do it, Cullen! We need him alive!”

Cullen drew back and turned to Gwen, incredulous. “You can’t be serious. This man just tried to kill you. Can you not see the danger?”

“The Herald is right, Commander,” Leliana said, emerging from the shadows. “The magister is of more value to us alive than dead. We need to learn of his master; this Elder One.”

Bull stepped back to give Gwen some space, but remained a short distance away, keeping his eye on her, while Leliana and Cullen proceeded to engage in a minor debate. Felix was helping Dorian up off the floor, and Sera was picking through the pockets of dead Venatori.

Meanwhile, Gwen considered what had just happened, or _not_ happened, as it turned out. Of all the ways she’d pictured things going wrong, she admitted this particular scenario had never entered her mind. Cullen had stopped Alexius’ spell with his templar abilities, thus making it so Gwen and Dorian were not sent on a wild trip through time into a horrific future. Gwen couldn’t decide if that was a good thing, or a bad thing.

Either way, one important thing was that the Inquisition still had paths open to discovering what they needed to know Corypheus’ plots through Alexius, and possibly even more with any information gleaned by Fiona and the rebel mages. Gwen considered that Cullen’s actions were by far less risky than time travel. Still, Gwen worried about how this might affect her foreknowledge of events, and trying to make sense of it made her head ache.

Dorian gave Bull a wide berth as he found his way back to Gwen’s side. “This ended better than I hoped, though I would rather none of it had ever happened at all,” Dorian said quietly. “Smart too, bringing your templar,” Dorian added. “He probably saved your life. All our lives, really.”

“He’s not my—”

“You might mark this moment as the first time in my life I’ve ever been thankful for the presence of a templar,” Fiona interrupted dryly, the relief she felt clear on her face. “Had that spell been cast, I shudder to think of what would have happened to this world.”

Bull slapped Cullen’s back now that the Commander was finished arguing with Leliana. “Nice job, Cullen. That idea worked out pretty damn well.”

Cullen gave Gwen meaningful look as he joined the growing circle of people surrounding her. “I’m just glad I was here to stop him,” he said softly.

 _Of all the arrogant fucking_ …

Gwen cursed herself for being so trusting and stupidly naïve as to believe these people - who were in all actuality strangers to her - would behave as if they lived in a fantasy game where they were all reliant on her choices and were at her beck and call. This was not a game, and she was struck with a sudden, profound sense of powerlessness. She felt completely adrift.

_They meant well?_

_But is still hurts… And it’s just like back home._

“Why so glum? It all worked out, and no one died,” Dorian squeezed Gwen’s shoulder as they watched two Inquisition soldiers dragging the corpse of a Venatori onto a stretcher. “Well, no one that matters, at any rate.”

Gwen covered her mouth as smiled and swallowed a laugh. “You’re awful.”

“Oh dear, have I caused offense? I can stop if you like,” Dorian said, utterly sincere.

She did laugh then; a quiet one for Dorian’s ears alone. “Oh please don’t. I like you just as you are.”

“We certainly have that in common,” Dorian said with a cheeky smirk. He turned quickly turned serious, however, and Gwen saw why when she followed the path of his gaze.

Alexius, finally bound in metal stocks, was being escorted from the chamber by Leliana, Sera, and several Inquisition scouts. Felix’s expression was bleak as he watched the grim procession and moved to follow.

“I think Felix might have need of me,” Dorian said, a touch of melancholy present in his voice.

Gwen empathized. “Of course. Go be with your friend.”

“Ready to be rid of the dread Tevinter, are we?”

She shook her head at him. “Not remotely.”

“Good to know, as I’m not quite done with the south yet, I think. Perhaps I’ll even join the Inquisition.”

“I think we’d be bloody lucky to have you with us,” Gwen grinned.

“Indeed you will. Until later then, my dear.” Dorian bowed low, then hurried from the room to join Felix.

“Aww, did we miss the party?” Varric chimed, smiling broadly as he strode into the chamber with compliment of Inquisition soldiers and royal guards in tow. The dwarf’s smile faltered as soon as he caught sight of Gwen though, and she felt a shred of satisfaction at the shadow of guilt that passed over his face as she gave him “The Look”.

The royal guards and Inquisition soldiers took up positions at regular intervals around the room, spreading out as a tall, proud figure whose face was heartbreakingly familiar stepped into the room.

If Varric or anyone else said anything to or around her for the next thirty seconds, Gwen did not hear them over the thundering of her heart. Her brain temporarily short-circuited, with all thoughts, negative or otherwise departing for parts unknown.

 _Alistair_ … ☆*✲ﾟ*｡(((´♡‿♡`+)))｡*ﾟ✲*☆

“King Alistair,” Fiona said reverently, dropping to her knees, and most everyone in the room followed suit.

When Gwen’s ability to think partially returned to the material plane, Cullen had moved into her field of vision, also kneeling before the king.

“Grand Enchanter,” Alistair began, his disappointment evident. “I _should_ have you and your followers banished from my kingdom for allowing a magister to throw my uncle out of his home after I generously allowed you and your followers to take refuge in my kingdom. However, in light of what I’ve been told of your cooperation with the Inquisition, I’m willing to grant you _some_ leniency on the matter. So, only _you_ will be banished from Ferelden, Grand Enchanter. You’ll be permitted enough time to seek another location for your followers to take shelter, if anyone will risk having them, but then I want you gone.”

Fiona’s head rose as she looked to Gwen, dark eyes pleading.

Gwen made a promise and she would honor it. “Your Majesty,” she said, lowering her eyes respectfully, surprised she managed to speak at all, let alone in a normal voice. “The Grand Enchanter and her followers have already agreed to be the Inquisition’s allies, so they will be more than welcome in Haven.”

“What?!” Cullen exclaimed, his head snapping up, looking at Gwen as though she’d had just stabbed him in the gut.

“And what of our children and the elderly? A war camp would hardly be suitable for them,” Fiona added.

“No, I agree with you on that, at least. For now,” Alistair looked at Cullen. “I am sure the Inquisition’s Commander will assist you, Grand Enchanter, by doing his utmost to ensure that you and your mages are escorted out of this keep and berthed securely with the rest of the Inquisition’s forces here, yes?”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Cullen replied, quick to obey. However, the glance the Commander flashed in Gwen’s direction before he left with Fiona spoke volumes.

Varric sidled up to Gwen cautiously once Cullen was out of sight. “So, how pissed are you? I mean, everything looks like it worked out okay…”

Gwen didn’t budge. “You’re right, it did, luckily for you.”

Varric gave her the biggest fucking puppy-eyes, and her defenses crumpled. She shook her head and smiled ruefully. “You did good, dwarf. Consider yourself forgiven.”

“Thank the Maker,” he said, exhaling heavily.

“Do it again, and I’ll make your life a living hell.”

“You got it, Firecracker.”

Alistair called from other side of the chamber. “Master Tethras, a moment if you would?”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Varric replied, giving Gwen a salute before he crossed the room to speak with the king.

A moment later, a falsetto wail pierced the air, and Gwen winced, covering her ears as she sought for the source. The toady, it turned out, had quite a flare for melodrama. “Keep that beast away from me!”

The beast in question was apparently Bull, who hadn’t yet moved from his earlier position. Albrecht was hysterical, and the Inquisition soldiers seemed at a bit of a loss on what to do while they tried to put the man in restraints. Bull looked at Gwen and gave her a helpless shrug.

As Cullen was no longer in the room, the soldiers looked to Gwen for answers. “What should we do with ‘im, m’lady?”

Gwen thought for a moment, then a slow grin spreading across her face as an idea came to her. She looked at Bull and said, “I believe this one requires an _elite_ escort to his new Inquisition-provided accommodations, and The Iron Bull is as elite as it gets.”

Bull picked up on Gwen’s idea without missing a beat, and his gold tooth winked as he smiled darkly at wee Albrecht. “Oh, it’ll be my pleasure, boss.”

Albrecht’s voice spiked in volume as he threw himself, literally, at Gwen’s feet after crawling across the floor like a worm. “You can’t do this! Please, my lady, I beg you! I’ll do anything! I swear to be your loyal slave for the rest of my life,” he blubbered.

“That’s either the saddest or funniest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” Varric muttered as he returned with Alistair not far behind him.

 “Don’t worry, friend,” Gwen said to Albrecht with a saccharine sweetness. “The Iron Bull will make sure you survive the journey.”

“Aw, boss, do I have to?”

“Yes, Bull. Just, please be careful,” she said, trying for a concerned look as she laying a hand on his arm for dramatic effect (mostly). “You never know what might accost you on the roads at night.” She finished with a slow wink.

Bull gave her a nod. “Hmm… I better gag him then. Wouldn’t want him to get himself _hurt_.”

Albrecht whimpered pitifully, and when Bull took a step toward him, the man went limp in the arms of the scouts who’d just managed to drag him up off the floor. There was a good round of laughter from those few who remained.

“Huh. Never had one faint like that,” Bull said with one last low chuckle. Then he gave Gwen a loaded look. “At least not before I get to the fun part.” It was a statement and a promise. Gwen’s heart fluttered.

_Reminder: that is not where your heart is located…_

Albrecht the Toad was lifted, dropped, and lifted again onto an empty stretcher by his handlers, and once they were done, Bull gave Gwen a salute and a wink. “See ya back at camp, boss.” And soon he was gone as with the last of the Inquisition troops tromping out behind him.

Gwen almost felt a teeny, tiny smidgen of guilt for doing that to Albrecht. Almost. Not really.

After a brief order from Alistair, the king’s guards marched from the room, leaving only Gwen, Varric, and the king in the throne room.

“Well, that’s one less problem to worry about, you know, aside from the great hole in the sky,” Alistair said with a touch of the sarcasm Gwen expected.

Alistair was even taller up close ( _because perspective_ ), and then there was his face. Gwen knew she was probably staring, but really, who could blame her? Alistair was not difficult to look at. Her brain flooded with purple prose as her eyes drank there fill.

He had an enviable shade of light copper hair that curled at his shoulders, setting off his warm, golden skin. He clearly didn’t spend too much time indoors, and Gwen would bet a few sovereigns that the skin around his russet eyes -which were incidentally framed by long, thick lashes… _because OF COURSE THEY WERE_ \- crinkled perfectly whenever he genuinely laughed or smiled. Alistair was doing neither of those things at that moment, however, stroking his well-groomed beard as he eyed her. “Now, I’m guessing you’re the Herald of Andraste?” ~~~~

“That she is, Your Majesty,” Varric answered for her, seeming to take notice of the fact that Gwen was slightly… distracted. “King Alistair, may I introduce Gwen Harwood, agent of the Inquisition, and the Herald of Andraste.”

This time Gwen tried to curtsey, but failed epically thanks to her bad bloody knee. She cursed softly from the sudden, sharp pain, and Alistair was quick to steady her.

_You just said fuck in front of a king. And not just any king. King Alistair “How Are You Real” Theirin! You’re beauty! You’re grace! LOL no…_

Gwen felt the blood drain from her face. Suddenly she was reliving one of her worst Catholic-school memories, only instead of cussing in front of a priest and the principle, she’d just dropped the f-bomb in the presence of a monarch, who was speaking to her with a very concerned look on his stupidly handsome face as he kept her from falling over.

“Are you quite well, my lady? Are you wounded? Do you need to sit for a moment?”

Gwen struggled briefly to relocate her power of speech, relatively certain her face was red as beet. “I-I am well, Your Majesty. I apologize for my, erm, a-ha, uh, colorful language. Old aches and pains are no excuse for poor manners.”

 _Oh, the shame_ …

“I understand, my lady, all too well. Indeed, I’m sure I said fuck myself at least five times before I even get out of bed this morning.” He paused, his brows knit into a frown. “Wait… that sounded a bit off. Could you just pretend that I said something terribly stern and kingly?”

Varric snorted. “And the people had _finally_ stopped calling you ‘King Alistair the Fluffy’.”

Alistair’s frown deepened. “They never called me that.” One brow rose after a beat. “Did they?”

“Nah, of course not,” Varric replied, giving Gwen a sly wink. “I should go lend Tiny a hand.”

“I should probably go see if anyone needs help, as well. Fiona might need some help.”

“A-ctually,” Alistair interjected. “I was hoping to speak privately with you, my lady, if you don’t mind.”

Varric waggled his eyebrows at Gwen, and she scowled back at him. “I’ll see myself out then. Good evening, Your Majesty.” Varric gave Alistair’s belly a couple firm pats and Alistair’s face fell a little. “See you back at camp, Gwen,” the dwarf said, whistling merrily to himself as he made his way down the steps.

“’M not fat,” Alistair muttered under his breath, then turned to Gwen, Varric’s slight forgotten. “You don’t mind, do you? Having a chat with me, I mean. I don’t bite, I swear. Well, not anymore…”

Gwen smiled softly. “Not at all, Your Majesty.”

“Well then, uh,” and Alistair paused, as servants started to file in with buckets and brushes, immediately setting about cleaning the numerous darkening pools of blood around the room. “Right. Follow me and I’ll give you the _royal_ tour. I grew up in this castle, you know.” He leaned down and whispered conspiratorially, “Well, in the stables anyway. Not many people know this, but I was actually raised by dogs.”

\-----

Alistair led Gwen through many corridors and up a flight or three of stairs onto the roof of the castle’s highest tower. They laid their respective weapons aside, though Gwen’s staff continued to emit a harmless, ambient glow. Together, they watched from the flurry of activity going on below from their quiet perch between parapets.

Torches bobbed up and down where the king’s guards walked the walls. In the courtyard, mages were forming up in orderly queues side-by-side with Inquisition soldiers, while a slight figure that Gwen guessed to be Fiona stood on a barrel as she addressed her people, though her voice was too faint for Gwen to make out her words.

Gwen’s eyes searched the crowd for other familiar faces and thought with a pang that Cullen was milling about down there somewhere, furious with Gwen because of her decision to make the mages allies. She was mildly disappointed that she couldn’t see him, but then she remembered he was dressed like the other soldiers, so she gave up on playing “Where’s Commander Noodlehair?” with a sigh. At least the Commander was too busy getting the mages organized and bedded down elsewhere to have a confrontation with her.

“Looks like Commander Cullen and Fiona have things well in hand.”

“Yes, it does,” Gwen replied.

“You know, I remember your Commander from years ago,” Alistair said. “He was still a templar at the time. I’m sure he’s mentioned it to you.”

“The Commander and I don’t speak very often, and certainly not about anything that isn’t Inquisition business.”

“I see.”

“He’s usually in Haven, doing whatever a military commander does. I’m mostly out in the field. Just another agent of the Inquisition.”

“With an occasionally sparkly hand, from what I’ve heard.”

Gwen laughed. “That is one way to put it.” She removed her left glove to let Alistair see the Anchor. As the king studied the mark, it glowed dully, as it sometimes did, whether there was a rift nearby or no.

“Does it hurt at all?” he asked.

“Always, but sometimes it hurts more than others. It was worse when it first happened, but I’m getting used to it now. That and losing Wicked Grace to Varric.”

“I played Diamond Back with him and this one pirate, and let me tell you, that was a huge mistake,” Alistair said with a sigh. “He still tries to blackmail me with the story.”

Gwen looked up at the king, one eyebrow quirked up from curiosity. “I’m guessing he tried again today?”

“Smart woman. Varric mentioned there was some sort of ongoing disagreement between you and the Commander, and he was hoping I might get the juicy details from you, ‘by being your charming self,’ he said.”

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” Gwen replied with a soft chuckle. “He must have at least half the damned Inquisition ready to get some kind of tidbit from one of us.” Then she back out over the courtyard. “But there’s nothing really to tell aside from the fact that I’m a mage and he’s a templar,” she said. It wasn’t entirely a lie, anyway.

“Let me show you something,” Alistair said, leading her to the north wall. “You probably can’t see it, but down there is Lake Calenhad, and if you look just there,” he said, pointing out into the darkness where Gwen could _just_ make out the outline of a tall structure piercing the fog in the distance, tiny points of light dotting it from the top to where it disappeared beneath the dense fog. “One of Ferelden’s Circle towers; Kinloch Hold. That’s where I met your Commander.

“The Blight was a chaotic time in this country, and Kinloch Hold was no exception. By the time we’d arrived there, seeking the aid of the mages, it was… well, quite literally a nightmare. And Cullen? He was half-starved and mad when we found him in the tower. He’d been tortured for Maker knows how long by demons and blood mages. We saved as many as we could. We always tried to save as many as we could.

“After the Blight ended, and I had a moment to spare, I sent word to ask after his health. I was informed only that he’d been transferred. Understandable, given what he endured to survive.

“Then I saw him several years later when I had to see to some business in Kirkwall. He was serving under Knight-Commander Meredith Stannard, and I think most everyone knows about her by now.” He leaned down and whispered, “She was a very mean person.

“Anyway, back to the point: When I saw Cullen in Kirkwall, he no longer looked like a walking corpse, and believe me, I’ve seen a LOT of those.” He turned somber then. “But his eyes… His eyes were just as lifeless as if he had been one of the undead. I remember thinking to myself that if Duncan,” and his voice cracked a little, “he was my Grey Warden mentor, you know.” Alistair cleared his throat. “If Duncan hadn’t saved me from going into the Templar Order, I might’ve been in Cullen’s place. That I might’ve been the one with dead eyes.”

Gwen wasn’t sure what to say, if there was anything she _could_ say, so she said nothing. Few desire to relive their pasts by painting graphic mental pictures of the painful details, preferring forget what hurt them, and Gwen understood that on a visceral level.

“I know it sounds unkind,” Alistair continued. “And probably a bit selfish, even though I’ve seen a fair number of horrors. To that point, if anyone ever asks you to go into the Deep Roads; don’t do it. The Deep Roads are a miserable, dark, dank, scary, dirty, dark spawn infested carnival of death and unpleasantness. Did I say scary? I actually meant terrifying. Truly, I would rather kiss a bear. With tongue.”

The last image caught Gwen so off-guard that she barked out a laugh, still chuckling as she replied, “I’m pretty sure the bear would eat your face, Your Majesty, but whatever tickles your pickle.”

“Tickles my whaaaa~t?”

Gwen slapped a hand over her mouth, her apology muffled, eyes wide as she shook her head, shoulders shaking with helpless laughter.

“I’ll have you know that no one, including myself, tickles the royal pickle.”

There was nothing for it. Gwen was howling with laughter now.

“And, you know, if we’re going to talk about such personal things, I’d rather you call me Alistair because then it’s less officially embarrassing. Really, I’d prefer you just call me Alistair anyway, especially if you’re going to laugh at me.”

Gwen wheezed when she could finally inhale enough oxygen to form a sentence. “’M not laughing at you. I am so sorry, Your Maj—erm—Alistair.”

Alistair grinned at her in the semi-darkness. “I’ll call you Gwen, then. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Alistair’s walked back to the south wall, and Gwen trailed behind. The courtyard was near empty now. Looking further south, past the castle, one could see the odd, snaking trail of light of the mages and Inquisition troops as it moved through the Hinterlands and it pooled somewhere near where Gwen figured the Crossroads to be. The valley along the King’s Road between Fort Connor and the Witchwood, she guessed. It would serve for a day or two at least, if that was the case.

“Well, I think that’s the last of them. I’ll give Grand Enchanter Fiona credit for keeping her people together and at least somewhat organized. Ferelden owes the Inquisition, and you especially, a debt of gratitude for what you accomplished here today at great personal risk. And since I’m the king, I have the authority to grant you a boon. So, what’ll it be? Land? A title?”

_A FOREVER HUG?!?!_

_No,_ she thought. This was a chance to help people that she couldn’t pass up.

“Nothing for me, but the children and elders among the mages will need someplace to stay.”

“No, you can’t make that your boon. I’ve already got someplace in mind for them. There are still a good many abandoned villages in the south. There’s one not far from here where I think they might be able to build a community in relative peace.”

“Oh,” Gwen replied. “That’s good then.”

“Right so, try again.”

Gwen thought for a moment and then it hit her. “Well, you were a Grey Warden, right?”

“Yeee~s? I was, well I am still, technically, but well, uh, it’s complicated.”

“Well, I was thinking maybe you could use your connections to find a way to help Felix Alexius.”

Alistair looked as if he was about to protest, then he looked at her with something like suspicion. “How do you know the Wardens would be of help to this man? If he’s ill, surely he knows mages who can heal whatever ails him?”

“I believe the magister’s search for a cure for his son was a major point of motivation for him to do what he did; I’m not justifying the man’s actions, but his son was a key player in our success here today. And also, honestly, Felix is just another victim in all this mess.”

“You make a valid point, but that doesn’t explain why you think the Wardens are the answer.”

_Idiot! Think fast!_

“There was this old woman I came across a long time ago, during the Blight,” she began.

The king folded his arms across his broad chest, eyes narrowing slightly. “Continue.”

“I was near a village that had been attacked trying to help where I could when she appeared one evening. She said she was just passing through, and, well I could just tell she was more than she seemed, or at least it felt that way to me. She was a mage; I could sense that much about her.

“One of the survivors was having a rough time of it, and she found me tending to them. She took one look at the woman said it was a pity there were no Grey Wardens near enough to give her a fighting chance. So between the stories I’d heard about the Wardens and what the old woman said, I just assumed there was some sort of connection.”

_Phew! Thanks, BioWare!_

“So, this old woman; did you ever get the feeling that she’d turn you into a toad if you just looked at her the wrong way?”

“Not really. No.”

“Huh. Did she have a witchy cackle like this?” Alistair then offered his impression of said cackle.

Gwen gnawed on her lower lip to keep from laughing and shook her head.

“Hmm. Did she call herself Flemeth by any chance?”

“I think so, yes, though I didn’t believe she could be, you know, _that_ Flemeth.”

“And wait, let me roll back a bit. Are you Fereldan? I mean, you sound a bit Fereldan, but not entirely.”

“Er, no, I’m definitely not Fereldan. I was… passing through when the Blight hit. I could have fled, but it seemed my skills might be of use to some. Plus, I figured I was less likely to be caught by mage-hunters in a country plagued by a Blight.”

Alistair stroked his beard. “It was a dark time, true. Sad that you felt safer with dark spawn running rampant than at the thought of being in a Circle Tower.”

“Considering recent events, and what occurred in the Circle Tower across the lake, I would say most mages might’ve felt the same. You might even say I’d rather snog a bear.”

“You have me there.” Alistair snorted a laugh. “Anyway, I won’t grill you any further. Not that it was my intention to do so. I just needed to see how you’d found out about that information. Grey Wardens don’t part easily with their secrets. I’ll say this much; I could sense the taint in the young man, though it was faint. I’ve seen some die slowly from the corruption, while others were dead in minutes.”

“If you are willing, and so long as Felix agrees to it; if the Wardens can find a way to help him, then that is all I ask for.”

“Well, if you’re sure you don’t want to be a teryn, then I suppose I will make inquiries behalf of Felix Alexius. I might be able to get in touch with someone in the Free Marches, as they’ve all but disappeared from Ferelden, and Orlais as well from some reports I’ve received. I can’t make any promises, sadly, but I’ll see what I can do.”

“You have my gratitude regardless, Your Majesty.”

“Alistair,” he corrected gently. “And I’m the one being grateful here. You know, boon-giving and all?”

Gwen lowered her eyes as she smiled. “Yes. Alistair. Sorry.”

“Better. Now before I forget, I’ve been wanting to say this since I first saw you, but your resemblance to someone I knew years ago is positively uncanny. Albeit you’re shorter, human, and a woman. Still, the similarity is truly amazing. Zev was right.”

Alistair might as well have slapped Gwen with a fish.

“Zev?” she said dumbly.

“There I go putting my foot in it again. Uncle Eamon is forever harping on me about diplomacy and keeping state secrets and all that rot. I’ve learned in my years as king that the man has as much appreciation for snark as he has for cheese, which to say none. It’s a truly sad state of affairs, let me tell you.”

Gwen grinned and chuckled. “I don’t think I could live long without either cheese or snark. How terrible for him. More cheese for us though!”

“I like the way you think!” Alistair grinned and gave her a friendly nudge with his elbow. “You know, I don’t think I’ve enjoyed a conversation this much in, well, I can’t remember.” His smile faded a little. “I never wanted to be king, but someone forced my hand. And I thought my time with the _Chantry_ was lonely. That was a veritable party in comparison.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh, and looked at Gwen with a tired, but genuine smile.

“Still, here you are with your open face and your fondness of cheese and you’re just so easy to talk to. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were casting some kind of charm on me,” he joked, and Gwen blushed predictably. “Anyway, what were we talking about?”

“Zevran Arainai,” Gwen prompted.

“Ah, right. You’ve probably guessed, so I might as well tell you I was the one who hired Zevran to check you out. I mean in a reconnaissance way, not in some other way.”

_Oh, bless your lovely heart, Alistair._

“Zevran came to my rescue with a rather timely intervention in Val Royeaux, which was much appreciated, so I can’t complain.”

“He said that you handled yourself rather well for a newcomer among Orlesian society. How did he put it? Oh, right. ‘The Herald has quite the wicked tongue.’”

Gwen’s face flushed with heat. “Er…”

_Cheeky bloody elf!_

Alistair seemed oblivious to Gwen’s temporary discomfort as he continued. “Truly, though, Zev had nothing but good things to say about you, Gwen. Odd question: Is that short for anything? Just curious.”

“Gwenhwyfar,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Please don’t let anyone know. Varric probably has a bet about that too.”

“You have my word, dear lady. I _can_ actually keep a secret, you know.”

“I doubt you would have lasted long as king if you couldn’t.”

“True.”

There was a moment of awkward silence, which Gwen felt compelled to fill.

“Speaking of which, I’m sure you have duties and important kingly things to do, and I should be vacating the castle along with the rest of the Inquisition.”

“And here I was having such a lovely time pretending I was just a plain old bastard again, and not a royal one,” he said, smiling crookedly.

“I can say the same, Alistair. The circumstances leading up to our introduction was less than desirable, but please believe me when I say that meeting and speaking with you tonight has been a balm to my beleaguered soul.”

“Well, that’s a first, but I feel much the same. I am honored to have made your acquaintance, Gwenhwyfar Harwood. When you’re done serving with the Inquisition, I hope you’ll consider visiting the palace in Denerim. I’ll probably be there. Sadly.”

“It would be a great honor for me to do so, Your Majesty.”

Alistair smiled ruefully. “I suppose that’s my cue to go back to ‘king-stuff’. But I can keep your company at least as long as it takes to escort you to your camp?”

Gwen was reluctant to leave, in part because of the company, but the relative privacy of the tower roof was comforting. “Actually, would it be alright if I stayed up here for just a little while longer? I don’t get much time to myself these days and—”

“Say no more, Gwen. I completely understand. Just promise me you’ll write to a lonely old king once in a while and tell me about your adventures?”

“I will, I promise.”

“Good! You might not want to stay up here too much longer. Smells like rain. I’ll be sure to see you at your camp in the morning.”

“What? You’re not staying here in the keep?”

“Maker, no,” he said with a little shudder.

“Why not?”

“This place has always been creepy,” Alistair replied.

Well, that answered that question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I don't finish revising the next chapter within a day or so, it'll be up next week. Bless ya for reading my trash. :3
> 
> *EDIT: Right, so upon reflection, I'm not sure I will go with what I have for chapter 27 so far, but I've started writing the alternative already. We'll see how it goes.
> 
> Also, I've been getting blitzed with migraine attacks this week and trying to write afterward is like mentally slogging through mud with boulders chained to my ankles. I'd like to thank everyone who continues to read and enjoy Gwen's story for their patience and understanding with my sporadic updates and my finicky nature about my writing. I'm writing this for my own enjoyment, but I'm also now writing for all of you who read it (because who doesn't enjoy making people happy?) and I want to keep both myself and you all entertained. blah blah I have more i want to write about characterization and my asshole perfectionism, but I'll save you from that! LOVE TO YOU ALL!
> 
> P.P.S. In case you don't follow any of my tumblrs, I commissioned [ @merwild](http://merwild.tumblr.com/) to draw [ Gwen ](http://gwenharel.tumblr.com/post/146034577077/evillyte-this-is-gwen-from-my-dragon-age-au-fic) for me and this was the final, glorious result:


	27. Lightning Lashes Towers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen does a little adulting. Kinda.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise, kids! I bet you thought you'd seen the last of me!
> 
> *Unbeta'd, etc. All the apologies.

The second a fat drop of rain hit her forehead with a pronounced _splat_ , Gwen gave up on trying to relax on Redcliffe’s roof, and by the time she reached the courtyard the storm had begun in earnest. She scanned the yard and those who remained outdoors could be seen huddled away from the rain wherever they could find shelter, which -Gwen noted with a slight frown- included Cullen. The Commander stood at the far end of the yard surrounded a small circle of shivering Inquisition soldiers and scouts, his attention focused on a piece of parchment to that lay atop a barrel.

Gwen could clearly see the man was busy, and she saw no need to disrupt his meeting. Besides, tired as she was, she still needed to travel through the rain and mud in the dark to reach modest comfort of her cot. This was Gwen’s sole thought as she crossed the courtyard, doing as she’d learned on the way to the Storm Coast and casting a weak barrier over herself to keep dry. She hurried, quick and quiet from the doors of the keep toward the portcullis.

“My lady Herald!”

Gwen froze mid-step, maybe five meters from the gate when the Commander’s voice brought her thoughts to a grinding halt. She stood, fists clenching and unclenching at her sides. “Shit on a stick,” she hissed under her breath. She turned to face him and in doing so noticed couldn’t help but notice that everyone with Cullen was now staring at her. She did her level best to ignore them. “Yes, Commander?” she replied.

“I require a few moments of your time before you leave. Please?” Then he looked at the gawking soldiers. “Right, you lot have your duties. Dismissed.”

The group dispersed as Gwen grudgingly complied, approaching Cullen’s position beneath the eaves, and the first few measures of Chopin’s “Piano Sonata No. 2 in B-Flat Minor _”_ played menacingly in her head with every step she took. Sure, she could have refused. After all, Cullen hadn’t issued a command, precisely, so if she stuck with being a petty asshole, she could have kept walking. Then Cullen would lose face in front of their people, and she was sensible enough to know that her continued assholery wasn’t good for the Inquisition.  That, coupled with the inclusion of the word “please” made Gwen fold more than anything. She let her barrier fall away as she joined Cullen under the eaves.

She watched as Cullen moved the candles holding the scroll on the barrel in place and made to roll back up when several fat, wet curls fell in his eyes. “Maker give me strength in this bloody weather,” he grumbled as he raked his unruly hair back, looking quite vexed. Gwen thought he looked fucking adorable and Gwen bit back a grin.

The flames of the wall sconces flickered as a sharp breeze swept under the eaves, bringing some of the downpour along with it, and Gwen moved closer to Cullen to avoid getting drenched from the overflowing rain gutters. Gwen grew quietly more anxious as she watched him successfully tie up the scroll, then tuck it away into a leather satchel at his hip. She cleared her throat softly, and started the ball rolling in the direction she assumed he was going to go. “I’m sure you have a great deal to say to me about today’s events,” she said carefully.

In place of a reply, Cullen dousing the candles and rolled the barrel over to an alcove where Gwen assumed he’d taken it from, and she followed, wondering if this was his version of a cold shoulder, or if he was just being an oblivious, inconsiderate prat. When Cullen finally stopped fussing with the barrel, he faced her, suddenly looking as tired as Gwen felt. He expelled a long, slow breath, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I’ll be honest,” he began, and his hand fell away. “I can’t say I’m pleased about the deal you made with the mages. Allowing them free reign over the Inquisition’s camp is a terrible idea, and puts everyone there at incredible risk.”

 _Right to it then_.

Gwen’s squared her shoulders. “Look,” she began with a sigh. “I know I put you in a difficult position and I apologize for that, but I made a difficult decision in impossible circumstances. Please believe me when I say I weighed the options and did what I could with a shitty situation. There was no one else in any position to help, not that anyone else would have, which I suspect you know, and that is something I _won’t_ apologize for. I realize it’ll be rough in the short-term for everyone, the mages included, but I know that you, of all people, are more than capable of rising to the task, Cullen.”

 The Commander leaned against the barrel and gave her a conciliatory nod. “Well I’m glad you recognize that, at least. Haven is ill-prepared for the influx of new mouths to feed, and or the need for lyrium in amounts that will likely make the Chantry nervous that we’ve become their direct competition. Then there’s the inevitability of abominations. And with so few templars in our ranks...”

Gwen frowned, reminded of arguments of a similar nature with her mother. “Really, Cullen? We saved lives today! You helped save the lives of mages today! Maybe you don’t realize it, but that is a step in the direction of gaining trust from group of people have little reason to trust. And, respectfully, do you honestly believe that all of us mages are just one belch away from demons bursting out of our skins to terrorize and kill?”

Cullen’s eyes widened. “Well, I—”

“Any second now and _POP_! A nasty sloth demon will take my place, and it’ll _squelch_ after you.” Gwen made a ridiculous face as she hunched her shoulders and did her best impression of a super-tiny depressed T-rex, flailing her hands limply with a pitiful squeal, then rolled her eyes. “Maybe it’ll give you a soggy growl, if the bloody thing felt like making the effort, which given the very nature of sloth, it probably wouldn’t.”

Cullen’s face was frozen between horrified and bewildered briefly before startling Gwen by... giggling.

Gwen was unsure what irritated her more; the fact that Cullen was laughing, or that sound, combined with his smile, was having a strangely corrosive effect on some of her internal organs. “Well, I’m glad one of us finds that amusing,” Gwen drawled in an aside, patiently waiting for the Commander’s fit to cease, and willing herself to not physically melt into a puddle.

“That’s not—” Cullen paused and took a sobering breath, then continued. “I didn’t ask you over to argue with you.”

Gwen hugged her chest. “I know. Seems I’m due for that lecture, and who better to dole it out than you,” she said, with a little more bite than she’d intended.

“No, I... Well, perhaps a bit,” Cullen conceded. “But in all seriousness, that isn’t the what I wish to talk about. Though I admit, I think you do have a somewhat valid point about the sloth demon,” he said with wry smile.

“I’ve seen and sent more demons back to the void of late than I ever thought I would, and I completely understand the gravity of the situation. I’m not really keen on the idea of turning into a demon, because as strange as life can be,” she said, looking down at her feet. “I’d really rather not have you or someone else be forced to kill me, or the demon formerly known as me.”

“I would rather not think of having to do any such thing either, my lady,” Cullen said, his amusement replaced by a look of soft concern. “But we are straying further from the topics I wished to discuss.”

“Oh, right. Yes. Sorry about that. Uh, please discuss away,” she replied, nervousness twisting in her gut.

“I, erm, thank you.” Cullen cleared his throat, paused and took a deep breath, then met her eyes directly as he set to. “Look, I know that I mucked things up before you went to Val Royeaux.” Gwen opened her mouth to politely object, but Cullen cut her off. “Please allow me to finish.”

Gwen’s teeth clicked as she shut her mouth, nodding, wide-eyed in her confusion as “Bizzaro” Cullen continued. “Now, as I was saying, at first, I wasn’t entirely sure what I’d done wrong. First Enchanter Avurion was kind enough to be the first to bring the truth of the matter to my attention the morning your party left for this mission. He then proceeded to launch into an ear-blistering lecture on your behalf the likes of which I’d not heard since I was a child.”

Gwen’s eyebrows traveled damn near up to her hairline as she listened in stunned silence, completely disarmed by this... confession.

Cullen’s brow furrowed as he continued. “When Cassandra interrupted, having heard Avurion, I _thought_ she was coming to intervene. Well, she did, just not in a way I was hoping for, or expecting. You see, after asking Avurion to repeat his story for her, Cassandra leapt to your defense as well. Suffice it to say, after having my many errors pointed out with crystal clarity, I was told I should make things right, and I agreed,” he said, bowing his head in what appeared to be apology.

Gwen visualized Avurion and Cass ganging up on poor, beleaguered Cullen and stifled a laugh. “Oh dear,” she said with mock-gravity.

Cullen gave her a sheepish grin. “Cassandra also insisted on sparring with me afterward, and the only reason I’m standing here speaking with you and not still bruised and broken back in Haven is thanks to Avurion’s grudgingly offered healing skills.”

Gwen flinched, and her concern taking a serious turn. “That seems a little excessive,” she said. “Are you still in any pain?”

“If I am, I well-earned it with my blundering. An apology hardly seems adequate, but I don’t know how else to begin. So, allow me to say that I am truly and eternally sorry for any discomfort I caused you, and you have my deepest apologies for my reprehensible treatment of you, my lady.”

Suddenly Gwen was choking on guilt. This whole day had been too damned much, and she didn’t think she could handle more surprises. She didn’t need Cullen turning into a wildcard. She still hadn’t fully accepted Thedas and her existence within in as wholly real, but Cullen’s confession was possibly the second-to-last straw before her brain broke. But Cullen wasn’t finished.

“I want to make it up to you; to fix things, if I can, because we were beginning to work well together before I made an ass of myself. At least, I felt that was the case, and I— the Inquisition and its purpose will suffer if you and I continue in a state of discord. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Gwen stared dumbly up down at her feet while her muddled brain sluggishly searched for the words to reply. Cullen’s humility had left her completely gobsmacked, and the silence drew out between them.

“Please, Gwen, talk to me?” Cullen quietly beseeched.

Gwen’s eyes shot up, her heart did a quadruple salchow in her chest, and her face flooded with heat. She gaped at Cullen in pure astonishment. “Did you...” _Blink_. “You just...” _Blink-blink_. “You called me Gwen?”

Cullen nodded. “Yes, I did,” he replied, matter-of-factly.

“That’s my name,” she said obtusely.

Cullen gave a soft snort of amusement. “So I’ve been informed.”

“You’ve never once used my name until now.”

“What do you mean? I use your name all the time.”

“Not to my face you don’t.”

“Well, you’ve only used mine twice – nay, three times- at least without the title,” he answered evasively.

“What? When did I use it before?”

_Has he been counting?_

“Twice in the throne room.”

 _Yep, he’s been counting_.

“I did not.”

“You did.”

“I think I would remember doing that.”

“Clearly not.”

“I refuse to accept this without specific examples. Cite your evidence, ser.” Gwen prodded at Cullen’s breastplate.

“You require an example? Alright. How about when you shouted at me not to kill the magister?”

Gwen rewound to that moment in her brain, and her pre-loaded negative response went up in smoke. She stood there, her mouth opening and closing like a fish as the humble pie Cullen lobbed at her stuck in her throat, horrified upon the realization that she had indeed slipped up and used his first name in her panic to stop him from killing Alexius. “Oh~,” she conceded with a nod. _Fuck_. “Well... shit.”

Cullen took a step toward her, and she saw none of the smugness she expected as she looked up at him, his expression neutral as he toed the line of her personal space. “Now then, back to the matter at hand.”

Gwen blinked up at him owlishly; shame, combined with the intensity of his eyes beneath his rain-damp curls brought a bright flush to her cheeks. She inched backward. “Oh, right, sorry again. What were you saying?” What _had_ he been saying?

Cullen’s eyes practically bore into her soul. “What I want to say is this; I apologize, and I humbly request your forgiveness.”

Gwen’s shook her head to try and clear it of rocks. “Uhh~, what?” came her eloquent response.

He chuckled. “I’m trying to apologize.”

“Okay, so I didn’t just imagine that.”

“I’m not above admitting my many faults.”

“I... yes, I know. Sorry.”

Cullen shook his head and huffed in amusement. “I’m the one trying to say he’s sorry. Will you accept my apology?”

Despite his smile, she could sense his sincerity. “Under one condition,” she said.

“Name it and if it is within my power, it shall be done.”

She searched his face and let out a long breath. “I ask that you to forgive me, too,” she answered, a slight tremor in her voice.

Cullen gave her a smile then that warmed her to her toes. “What in Thedas do you need my forgiveness for?” he said, voice full of gentle laughter.

“You’re right that we can’t keep up this kind of adversarial behavior when so much depends on the Inquisition’s actions as a whole, so long as we are part of it. Petty quarrels have no place here, and such things should be avoided because there’s enough trouble externally already. Whether I care to admit it or not, people will take their cues from us, and I’ve been acting like a child. I shouldn’t have taken the situation with Avurion so personally. It was a kneejerk reaction and there is no excuse for the way I drew it out,” Gwen admitted, then she held her right hand out toward him, a tentative smile curving her lips.  “So, Cullen, will you forgive me for being a stubborn, prideful twit?”

“As you wish,” he said, clasping her hand firmly with both of his. “Do you? Forgive me, I mean,” he asked, hope hanging by a thread in his eyes. “For being, as a wise man once told me, ‘an oblivious, obtuse numpty of a shem’?”

Gwen’s feeble defenses crumbled under the force of Cullen’s puppy-eyes, and the warmth of his hands. “Consider yourself absolved of all transgressions.” She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, and when he squeezed in return, a tightness in her chest eased.

They stood there, shaking hands, while Gwen smiled up at him like an idiot. “I’m relieved that’s over with. It’s much nicer being able to talk with you,” she blurted.

Cullen smiled warmly, his eyes crinkly at the edges. “Agreed.”

“I try not to hold grudges, but sometimes I fail pretty spectacularly at it, and it’s not easy staying angry with someone I really, erm, get along with.”

Cullen snorted. “You know, there was gossip making the rounds for a time about whether Haven was experiencing a spring blizzard while you were away, or whether I had managed to offend you again from a distance. I’m fairly certain Leliana started it.”

“Good grief,” Gwen said with a groan, looking down at her feet again, grateful for the poor lighting that would, she hoped, hide her blush. “I’m so sorry about that.”

“Don’t be,” Cullen said softly.

This was when Gwen realized that they were _still_ shaking hands, or more accurately, holding hands. They both looked down at their joined hands at the same time, and neither made an immediate move to change that fact. They stood together in silence, the sound of the rain was soon drowned out by the sound of Gwen’s pulse pounding in her ears. She traced a small circle on Cullen’s palm with her thumb, her cheeks warming as she glanced up at him from beneath her lashes. Cullen’s fingers twitched minutely, squeezing gently, his expression inscrutable.

A loud clang rang out from the bell tower, shocking Gwen back into the moment and a guard’s voice rang out from the walls, “One bell, and all’s well!”

Gwen yanked her hand away from Cullen’s with more force and speed than she’d intended. Fearing she’d hurt his feelings, she murmured a quick apology as she shrugged her barrier back into place. “It’s later than I realized. I best get back to camp.”

“I should get some rest as well,” he said with a strange edge to his voice.

“Yes, of course. Goodnight, Commander,” Gwen said over her shoulder as she ~~totally did not flee from Cullen~~ left the castle.

 “Sleep well, my lady Herald,” Cullen called out after her.

She did not sleep that night, well or otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, this is unexpected. I've been sitting on this chapter for months, and there have been many iterations of it. I wanted to give you all a much larger update for simply being patient enough to wait for my sick-ass to post SOMETHING, but I figured I should just post this anyway before I change my mind. With that, I've also decided to make the ship official.
> 
> As for the reasons it took so long, they are numerous, but my mental and physical health had been declining over the last couple years. Suffice it to say that I've finally (for now) got insurance and I found out that I not only have PCOS (poly-cystic ovarian syndrome), but that I also have an autoimmune disease of the thyroid called "Hashimoto's Disease" which made me hypothyroid, which is one of the main causes of my health problems. This also led to the discovery that I have a mild form of thyroid cancer, and I'll be undergoing surgery next month to begin dealing with that.
> 
> So, thank you to everyone who has stuck with me and Gwen's story. Though it may take me forever, I will finish this story.
> 
> **On a less serious note: The title for this chapter was taken from the song "Come Talk To Me" by Peter Gabriel, but the version that helped inspire this chapter was performed by [Bon Iver](https://youtu.be/DgbSHt0wD9Y).


	28. Montage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Cuz we're gonna need a monta~ge! Montage!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know! I'm just as surprised as you are!
> 
> *unbeta'd, you know the drill.
> 
> Nothing super exciting, but necessary for me to get the story where I wanted it to be. The style is probably a bit different from other chapters too. But it is what it is.
> 
>  
> 
> [Montage!](https://youtu.be/vK4gv11PTI8)

Over the coming months, Gwen and company spent most of their time in Haven, with only the odd mission to the Hinterlands or the Storm Coast and smaller places in between. As the spring months went on, much of the snow and ice around the village melted. Long green grass grew practically overnight, with wildflowers sprinkled throughout. Gwen had little time to enjoy nature, however, as her schedule was jam-packed with activities such as getting her ass kicked in weapons training by the likes of Ser Walker, who seemed to relish seeing her on her back in the dirt. She’d been handed over to Carver only after Cullen had finished assessed her capabilities -or lack thereof- without the use of magic. It had not one of Gwen’s finest moments, but it did give her determination.

So, out of practicality and a desire to live, she resolved to absorb everything she could and be a model student. It was slow going, however, and she’d grown used to being thumped by Little Hawke. There was also some incentive to get good enough that she wouldn’t look so inept while the Commander made his daily rounds. Cullen always seemed to pop up when she was getting clobbered. Or maybe she was getting clobbered after her attention was drawn away from her opponent.

**15th th Justinian, 9:41 – Haven, Ferelden**

Gwen lay panting on the muddy spring ground of the practice ring, clutching the splintered handle of the wooden sword she’d attempted to wield against Carver’s larger wooden sword, and failed. Spectacularly. Carver took her down fast and hard, and she couldn’t blame it on the Commander this time, because he wasn’t around. So, of course, Carver, figurative little shit that he was, leered at her as he got up on all fours above her.  “You, sometimes I think you only lose because you like the idea of having me on top.”

With a snarl and Gwen drove a well-placed knee to Carver’s leather-clad thigh and shoved him off. “Pig.”

Carver rolled onto his back in the muck. “You missed.” Carver said with a strained chuckle.

Gwen tossed her broken weapon into a trough full of them just inside of the ring’s fence. “If I’d missed, Ser _Walker_ ,” she replied sharply, “you’d be singing the Chant one octave higher than normal come week’s end.”

“If only you’d apply that hot sauce to your defense techniques, magey.” He laughed.

She rolled her eyes. “Shut it, bucket head,” she replied with a snort.

There was no real heat to it, as was typical of their banter. The man had a way of making her laugh when she would get angry at herself for feeling her performance was mediocre or worse. She discovered that Carver was a bit of a perfectionist when it came to his skills, and he understood her drive to excel.

Carver also revealed a dogged determination to annoy the living shit out of her. “Hey, now! I’m bucketless today! But the other part? Well, let’s just say I can think of a few ways you could get me to shut it without complaint.”

Teasing of this sort was nothing new from Carver, to Gwen’s dismay. While she wouldn’t argue that Ser Walker was quite a charmer when he put his mind to it, she didn’t take his flirtations seriously in the least. Had her mind not frequently ( _annoyingly_ ) been on a certain former templar with a hideous coat, warm brown eyes, and a crooked smile that always liquified her internal organs, she might not have pushed Carver away.

She let out a short, explosive laugh and propped herself up on her elbows. She glanced over at Carver, laying half in a puddle, and shook her head. “You know, there are any number of people in Haven of all races and genders who give you longing looks, most of whom aren’t remotely mage-y. All of them are more biddable, and undoubtedly more pleasing to the eye. Truly, I can’t fathom what possesses you to waste your breath.”

About a week after she got back to Haven, Gwen caught a better glimpse of herself in a looking glass than she had in Val Royeaux. While she’d never been a great beauty, the angry scars on her face ensured she wasn’t going to labor under the illusion that anyone would want her as anything other than a means to an end; the end being the sealing of Breach. Some might try to placate her and say her new scars lent her “character,” and while she didn’t mind her scars, she did mind the false pretense behind the attention.

Carver was looking at her in disbelief, then his eyes narrowed. “Might be a desire demon that possesses me. _Or_ I have two good eyes in my head, you daft woman.”

Gwen stumbled to her feet, the backhanded compliment ignored. “Are we done for the day?” She asked, dusting caked, drying mud off on the few clean-ish bits left of her breeches.

“Yeah, alright. On with you then, delicate mage flower.” He yawned and dismissed her with a wave of his gauntleted fist, the hinges creaking comically.

She’d slept poorly the night before, and so on top of being battered and torn, she was tired, and the day was far from over. So, feeling a little petty she kicked the puddle of muddy water in the direction of Carver’s face.

Gwen watched with great amusement as Carver cursed and sputtered. “Fucking… Ack! Oi! Didja have to--?!” He coughed and sat up, spitting on the ground, wiping at his face, only to succeed in making it muddier. “Bleh…- _pthooh_ \- Urgh, that’s just... Right in my mouth.”

“That’s what he said,” Gwen quipped as she sashayed off to her next appointment, a smug smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth.

\-----

Gwen spent every waking (and sometimes even sleeping) hour of her days in Haven training, with little room leisure time. By summer, the lake had fully melted and became a popular destination for many, including Gwen, in the early evenings. Thedosian swimwear was a tad bulky for her tastes, but she wasn’t about to run around in her skivvies. Hell, she was still self-conscious about her body hair, even though everyone aside from elves had it, and no one gave a single damn.

Self-image issues aside, she took the time to volunteer to teach folks how to swim - partly because it was a good skill to have, and partly because it was the best excuse for staying in the lake for a couple hours at least one day a week while still giving the appearance of productivity.

She also had damn near no time to herself during her waking hours, and she frequently felt the strain. It was little wonder that she was constantly on the verge of burning out when the only private moments she got consisted primarily of her occasional use of the Chantry garderobe for biological needs, and only because the camp latrines were generally rather populous. She did have to risk the latrines on occasion, however, and in the middle of summer, it was a test of courage to do so.

Gwen’s bruises had bruises located in places that she’d been unaware bruises could develop. She endured, however, because regardless of bruises, soreness, fatigue and high-levels of stress were preferable to her lessons in the Chant, courtly etiquette and comportment -- courtesy of Mother Giselle. Gwen was asked to sit in on the lectures as an example to others, given her special title, and she agreed solely because she got to sit on a cushioned chair for an hour. But they never stipulated that she had to pay attention while she was there, so while everyone else was reading the Chant, Gwen would read back-issues of _The Randy Dowager Quarterly_.

The time Chantry lessons did give Gwen a greater appreciation for Cassandra’s morning runs, and Gwen loathed cardio. Cass dragged her out on that run every bloody morning before the break of day and Gwen gritted her teeth and bore it as best as she could. At least the Seeker was considerate enough to increase the distance they ran per day incrementally. Every breath she took on those runs was a new curse word for aimed at Cass, who took none of it personally. Gwen made Cass very well-aware of how much she disliked physical exercise. Cass didn’t give up on her, though, and Gwen didn’t want to waste her new friend’s time, and deep in her heart she appreciated that Cassandra cared enough about her to push her to be better. The Seeker never berated Gwen when she didn’t fully keep up, or ended up getting a cramp. She’d pause and talk her through it, boost her up and help her keep going.

“Know your limits. Know when you can afford to push them, and when it’s best not to,” she’d say. She wasn’t a half-bad cheerleader when she made an effort.

Bull had Krem work with Gwen on some strength and endurance training. The big man himself preferred to watch and offer commentary when he felt the need.

Sera tried to show Gwen how to pick locks some nights, but she was rubbish at it, so eventually Sera gave up, and joined Bull, adding the odd wolf-whistle in addition to Bull’s comments. There was more laughter than one would expect with the ever-looming Breach boiling in the sky, and Gwen counted these people as friends.

In contrast to all that physical work was Gwen’s arcane education, and a goodly portion of time was dedicated to that effort. Given her status as an apostate, Vivienne took the lead in trying to fill in the gaps in her magical knowledge, while also correcting her casting techniques to be in line with Circle standards, though others stepped in from time to time. Rion tried to show Gwen a few Circle basics she hadn’t learned or used for the sake of practicality. Gwen appreciated the learning opportunity, but knew damn well that she needed to think outside the Circle when it came to magic. Still, the best Circle-magic lesson she’d had with Rion had involved grease spells.

 

**5 th Solace, 9:41 – Haven, Ferelden**

Rion was shocked to learn that Gwen had never once cast a grease spell or summoned a simple wisp.

“Why would I need to cast a spell to summon grease? Are we planning a gargantuan Inquisition bake sale?”

“Erm, no, but in the Circle, us mages usually learn to cast it, uh, early on.” Rion reached under his cowl, and it fell back as he ran a hand through his dark, spiky hair.

“You know I’ve never set foot in or near a Circle in my life, so I wouldn’t know about that. So, again I ask: why I would ever _need_ to cast a grease spell?” Gwen never played the mage origin story from the first game, which could be blamed on her irresistible need to pick locked boxes and doors, thus she chose to play rogues in her canon games, until Inquisition came out. She had also been guilty of using auto-level, playing on easy mode, and never bothering to look in great detail at her companions’ abilities. Frankly, she just couldn’t be arsed when all she’d cared about was the story, and romancing characters (Alistair). Mostly story though.

Okay, that was a lie.

“I know you’re an apostate, but have you never, erm…?” Beads of sweat broke out on Rion’s forehead, and the man looked a little flushed.

Was he asking what she thought he was asking?

“Never what?”

“Do you really need me to say it?”

“Yes, I really need you to say it. Have I never what?”

“You know...” He tickled his pinky fingers together.

“Have I never tickled a flea with my little fingers? Eaten qunari cheese? Have I never… licked a lamppost in Tevinter?” Gwen said, silently giving thanks to Alistair’s silliness as she batted her eyelashes at the flustered mage.

Rion crossed his arms with a huff and scowled down at Gwen. “Now you’re just taking the piss.”

Gwen snorted with laughter. “Like you’d do anything different if our situations were reversed?”

Rion’s lips twitched. “I might do.” He cleared his throat, and wiped any trace of amusement off his face as he turned away from Gwen to thumb through an oversized magical tome. “Anyhow, let’s get to showing you some of the simple shite.”

When Dorian finally swept into Haven and offered his own expertise toward to goal of broadening Gwen’s magical horizons, many protested it, but Josephine, Leliana, and Avurion argued in favor stating that the Herald would be that much better equipped to handle foreign mages in battle, increasing her odds of survival, which was paramount to the Inquisition’s efforts. Once Cullen was convinced, the others bent the proverbial knee. So Dorian, with Avurion’s assistance, gleefully upended Madame de Fer’s efforts prior efforts. Avurion especially seemed to thrive on Vivienne’s looks of disapproval whenever the Gwen strayed from the ways of the Circle.

Solas helped in his own way, informally discussing magical theory with Gwen, or offering pointers on Fade-walking. He had yet to attempt to visit her dreams, to her knowledge, nor did he ask permission to try. Perhaps he as hoping Gwen would come to him, but she wasn’t in a rush to show him just how much his tips had helped. She’d reached a point that was able to remember most of her dreams with almost perfect clarity if she wanted to. Some dreams, she’d decided early on, were much better forgotten. Controlling the direction of her dreams or traveling to other realms in the Fade were things she had not intentionally attempted yet, but it was only a matter of time.

By the time Kingsway rolled around, Gwen had become fitter, faster, and even started to outdo her trainers - some of the time. Her armor loosened and needed to be refitted a of couple times, and her confidence grew.  But she was no waif. She remained short and pudgy. What she’d lost in flab, she’d gained muscle. She didn’t gain miracle abs, but whatever was under the thinning layer of fat on her belly was firmer, and she didn’t jiggle quite as much as she used to. Her inner-thighs still rubbed together, but she found she did not care. And she was actually proud of how defined her arms and calves had become. Plus, with so much time in the sun without sunscreen, her skin burned (initially), then gradually tanned. Her once-faded freckles stood out more, and new streaks of copper and blond shot through her hair. In all, she felt healthier than she’d been since childhood, and it was admittedly nice.

There were matters that drew her away from her training, of course. At least once a day she had to mediate disagreements at the war table instead, only to be forced into making decisions that she did not feel qualified to make. One late August afternoon, while the council fell into of their circular arguments, Gwen’s mind drifted, and she tuned them out. She stared at the map markers on the table, and the well-used map itself, and suddenly tried to summon up an image of home. Nothing came but a sad realization that she was forgetting her former home. After so many months, Gwen’s memories of life before Thedas had grown so distant that she’d almost begun to believe that she’d imagined it all, and that perhaps she’d been here all along.

**27 th Kingsway, 9:41 – Haven, Ferelden**

Gwen sped through the gates of Haven like her ass was on fire, arms raised as she whooped with joy. “I win!” she declared with a breathless smile, making a small victory lap.

Cassandra came jogging casually after Gwen, considerably less winded, with nary a drop of visible perspiration on her person. “Indeed! It only took you, what, four months? Five?” Cassandra said with a smirk.

Gwen shot Cassandra a dark look. “I hate you.”  She bent over, resting her hands just above the knee, completely drenched in sweat.

“You do not.”

“No, I don’t,” Gwen conceded with a light, wheezing chuckle. “Help me up, would you?”

Cassandra snorted and helped Gwen straighten up with an indulgent look. “I must admit, you have come far with your training in these few months.”

Gwen pointlessly wiped sweat from her brow with a sodden rag and chuckled. “My, my! What have I done to earn such high praise?”

“I saw how thoroughly you trounced Ser Walker yesterday.”

Gwen barked out a short laugh at that.

“But I’m also only speaking the truth.”

Gwen lips spread in a sly grin. “Aren’t you supposed to _seek_ the truth, though?”

“Ugh, stop,” Cassandra groaned, shaking her head wearing a reluctant smile. “You spend too much time around Varric and Sera.”

“Okay. No silly puns. So, how are things with Trevelyan?”

Cassandra grimaced. “You just had to bring that up?”

“It was that, or more puns.”

“You are the worst.”

“I know. Answer the question if you don’t wish to suffer the pun-sequences!”

Cassandra huffed. “Fine. If you must know, the man is an insufferable prig, but he no longer wishes you dead, and he’s pledged his service to the Inquisition. However, now his focus has shifted.” She scowled and shook her head.

“Shifted to what?”

Color rose in the Seeker’s cheeks, which in turn brought Gwen’s brows up in mild surprise. “He... He flirts at every opportunity and it is annoying. Extremely annoying,” she replied emphatically.

Gwen turned a knowing smirk on Cassandra. “Oh, something tells me you don’t mind it all that much. I mean, I agree the man is an insufferable prig, but a lot of people in camp seem to fancy him, so I hear.”

“I do not... _fancy_ Max.”

“Oh-ho, ‘Max’ is it?”

“Ugh, I hate you.” She punctuated her statement by planting a fist into Gwen’s closest arm.

“Ow!” Gwen laughed, rubbing her arm, then teased in a sing-song voice, “No, you do~n’t.”

Cassandra grinned reluctantly. “No, I do not.”

They were just passing the practice ring, which had rather a large audience gathered for the time of day. This brought out Gwen’s curiosity, and she jumped trying to see who was in the ring.

“Stand aside for the Herald,” Cassandra said firmly, shoving spectators out of the way.

Once Gwen reached the fence and she saw what was going on and with whom, all thoughts of her routine went flying out of her head. Carver and Cullen were circling each other in the ring, their naked fists raised, shirtless, sweaty, their skin flushed with from the fight, and Gwen was riveted to the spot.

“What are they doing?” Gwen asked.

“Sparring, clearly.” Cassandra said.

“Yes, obviously, but why?”

The Seeker shrugged in reply, but a burly dwarf to Gwen’s right said, “They’re settling an argument. I haven’t seen something like this since before I was exiled from Orzammar.”

“Do you know what they were arguing about?”

“No, but if I had to guess? A woman.”

“Nah, it ain’t that a’tall,” a slightly-loopy looking elf to standing behind the dwarf said. “Walker’s still sore about the match he lost yesterday, so he wants to beat the Commander.”

“So, it is about a woman, then,” Cassandra said just loud enough for Gwen to hear the laughter in her voice.

She rolled her eyes, and glanced at Cullen, then Carver assessing the damage. Cullen bore a number of deep red marks on his flanks and arms, and Carver's left eye was swelling up like a balloon. She wasn't interested in Carver though. Gwen watched Cullen as he moved, feeling anxiety welling up in her gut.

Carver took a swing and missed, and Gwen's heart leapt into her throat. One, two more swings, and both missed. Even in profile, Gwen could see the fierce spark of determination in Cullen’s eyes, the firm set of his jaw, and a slight, taunting upturn of his lips. Little Hawke was looking tired and Cullen knew it, just waiting on Carver to wear himself out.

Cullen feinted with his right, and Carver lashed out, taking the bait. Cullen dodged easily and his left made solid contact with Carver’s nose.

There was a collective “Ooooh!” from the crowd, and a lot of wincing.

Carver staggered back a bit and grinned as blood streamed down over his lips and chin, staining his teeth. “Good one, Commander, but I’ve sussed you out,” he said, panting.

“You sure ab--” but Cullen didn’t finish his taunt as Carver swung high and wide with his left. Cullen blocked the sloppy move, but his right was open and vulnerable and Carver knew it, laughing as his left dug to the up under Cullen’s ribs. Gwen could hear the whoosh of Cullen’s breath forcibly expelled from his lungs as he fell to one knee.

“Cullen!” The audience drowned out her cry. Gwen’s knuckles were white where she gripped the fence, and before she knew she was doing, one foot was on the bottom rung as she started to scale the low, wooden fence.

"No, Gwen," Cassandra hissed in her ear as the her hands dug into the meat of Gwen's shoulders like hooks, and dragged her down and back. "Cullen knows what he's doing. Have patience."

Carver circled Cullen as the Commander got his bearings, and he spied Gwen ringside, his bloody grin widening as he gave her a wink with his good eye.

_Arrogant idiot._

Cullen took advantage of Carver’s inattention and caught him smoothly under the jaw with a vicious uppercut. And just like that, Carver was flat on his back in a daze. The crowd roared and laughed, quieting only slightly with the clink of coins changing hands.

A gaggle of ladies (and a couple blokes) pushed into the practice ring before Cullen could give his opponent a hand up, cooing and clucking as Carver's fans crowded around the beaten templar.

Then Gwen looked up and saw Cullen had turned to face her. Her heart was still beating at an alarming rate after watching Cullen take that hit, and she willed her worry not to show as his eyes met hers across the ring.

After Redcliffe, things had changed between them, she’d admitted that much to herself. They'd grown more informal in the war room, and in some of their correspondence. Otherwise, they kept things "professional". There had, however, been several incidents where they’d found themselves left alone together for brief periods of time. During those moments, there existed an altogether new, yet not entirely unpleasant, sort of tension between them that neither was willing to say or do anything about. Yet.

Sometimes meaningless pleasantries were exchanged, albeit stiffly. Most of the time, though, they didn’t speak. The first time, Gwen had found a book behind Cullen to stare at until the rest of the council returned, but she’d felt his eyes on her. The next time it happened, she stared right back... for a few seconds. Then she was back to staring at the book, unable to hide her blush. The third time, (not that Gwen had been keeping, track, mind) Cullen asked her a few questions. Had she been enjoying her studies? _Why yes, she had been for the most part, thanks_. Was she learning anything interesting? _Oh, every day there was something new and fascinating. Like learning to heal her bruises expeditiously_. He laughed and so did she. Then they fell silent again, and just looked at one another.

The fourth time, after the others left the room, Cullen had this a look in his eyes that had seared a mark on Gwen’s soul, and now as he crossed the practice ring toward her, he had that same ultra-intense look. She was melting in public and she didn’t give a damn. Cass was saying something to her, but it wasn't getting through. The only thing that mattered at that moment was the look in Cullen’s warm, golden eyes.

When he reached the fence, he greeted Cassandra, then his gaze shifted to Gwen. “My lady Herald.” He bowed his head.

She wanted to reach up over the fence and drag him down to her and kiss the living daylights out of him, then slap him, then shove a super bitter healing potion down his throat.

_Get a hold of yourself, woman! You don’t have time for any of that!_

Instead, she just smiled at him, and his eyes crinkled as he returned her smile. Her knees wobbled, and her idiot heart had the nerve to flutter. Gwen hated how that smile turned her world inside out and upside down. It just wasn’t fair...

A great, thunderous crack ripped through the sky from the direction of the Breach, and all of Haven fell still. Smiles faded, the morning's levity vanished, and Gwen’s foolish thoughts of silly crushes evaporated.

Cassandra shook her gently. “I think you are ready, Herald. We can wait no longer.”

Gwen looked at the Breach, and her stomach squirmed right down to her toes. She glanced at Cullen, whose expression lost its warmth. He was on full alert, waiting intently for her reply. She took a sharp breath, her heart heavy. Then she turned to Cassandra and nodded only once. “Yes. It’s time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to try my best to get the next chapter out before my surgery next month. It's probably going to be on the large side. I can't make any promises because I never know how I'm going to feel day to day anymore. Anyhoo, I hope this will tide y'all over a bit. Should make decent napping material, at any rate. X3

**Author's Note:**

> If you read this, thanks. As always, comments and constructive criticism are welcome.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Agents of Change: Reformation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3816694) by [Eisen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eisen/pseuds/Eisen)




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